


Sweet Lies

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [27]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: A new story for the revised series - one that should have been written and was not. Rebuilding my own canon slowly. If you haven't read the previous stories in the series, you may be a tad lost.Picard and Troi take the Enterprise to the Klingon Empire, to help the Klingons sort out how to deal with unknown species that are coming out of the Beta Quadrant in warships. No one's seen these aliens before, and the aliens aren't really interested in being friends.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Deanna Troi
Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222406
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
> 
> Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
> 
> Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
> 
> Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
> 
> My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
> 
> To children ardent for some desperate glory,
> 
> The old Lie: _Dulce et decorum est_
> 
> _Pro patria mori._
> 
> \-- Wilfred Owen, Dulce et decorum est
> 
> The Latin means: How sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country.

"Dropping out of warp, sir," Ensign Matteo said from the helm. 

Jean-Luc Picard glanced at the panel on the left arm of his chair, currently configured to show the time and to let him know if any priority messages arrived from Command. Lately admirals had taken to sending updates in text when they were traveling on the edges of Federation space, rather than contacting him via live subspace communications. It was shortly after lunch and he'd had nothing since breakfast. That explained the empty pit in his stomach. He looked at Carlisle, seated at ops. 

"Sensors?"

Ward Carlisle shook his head. "Long range shows nothing, sir. I'm even scanning for chronitons, or any sign of a warp trail."

Everyone knew why they were there. The briefing had been held en route to the predetermined coordinates. There were aliens traveling through Klingon space, that had not reached the Federation yet but would within the month, so the _Enterprise_ was tasked with finding them, making contact, identifying the species and determining their intentions. Were they refugees? An invasion force? The Klingons had lost a warbird already and hadn't established contact.

Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair and decided that waiting was best. "All stop, Mr. Matteo. Mr. deLio, send a message on Klingon channels notifying them we are here and waiting." They were supposed to meet the _Rotarran_, the current flagship of their fleet, and begin the hunt for six warships of unknown origin. That General Kardan and his vessel were not where they'd been told to be was concerning, but it was possible that they were already engaged in battle and hadn't made the rendezvous.

"Aye, sir," deLio said. 

Jean-Luc heard the turbolift open above and behind him. Deanna had returned to the bridge. He was starting to be able to feel her presence, something he had never anticipated happening, but he knew when it was her rather than one of the other officers. She arrived at his side and sat in her place, composed and turning to look to him for an update.

"No sign of the _Rotarran. _We're holding position."

"All departments are ready," Deanna said. She sat in the first officer's chair differently than she had in the counselor's -- upright, shoulders back, with more presence. Of course, a first officer would be more invested in ship operations than a counselor. And she was feeling the pressure of her new position; the six days of travel from Earth had been a difficult period of adjustment, coming off leave and leaping back on duty into a tense mission that might involve battle. Something that she still had anticipatory anxiety about. Managing the various other tasks involved in coordinating departments and resources were not daunting tasks for her. He knew she'd started to feel the loss of counseling duties, both of them knew she would miss aspects of her old job, but overall he thought she was adjusting rapidly. 

They sat in silence, and he fell to wondering how long it would take. Then how she was feeling, as she'd been complaining that morning of some mild nausea. It wasn't typical for her to feel it, so she theorized it was either stress or morning sickness. The pregnancy was still very recent, so she suspected stress was more likely the culprit and took time to meditate. 

_I'm fine_, she projected, proving she was paying close attention to him. Hands folded in her lap, she watched the panel on the arm of her chair, which he noted was set to display a graphic generated by the sensor sweeps that deLio was running.

After nearly an hour of patient waiting, Jean-Luc's musing about the state of Klingon politics was interrupted by a movement of Deanna's head. She'd turned it slightly away from him, with a sharp enough movement that it caught his attention. She seemed to be listening to something.

"Commander?" he prompted after a moment of silence.

"I sensed something but it's very faint. Mr. deLio, do you read anything on long range sensors?"

"Negative." deLio's reedy, higher-pitched voice tended to sound anxious to most humans, but the past two years of having him aboard had adjusted Jean-Luc's perceptions. He heard deLio's normal tone of voice, reporting nothing unusual going on.

Jean-Luc turned to look at his first officer, only to find her frowning slightly. "Commander?"

"We should start a search pattern," she said. From the serious tone and the unhappy look on her face, she had sensed something that made her think a rescue was needed.

"Do we have a heading to start from?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"If we plot a spiral from our current position I might be able to determine a bearing."

"Mr. Matteo, make it so -- half impulse."

The ship followed a broad spiral, half impulse, until deLio announced, "Sensors are picking up debris, sir."

Matteo looked over his shoulder. The dark-skinned young ensign stared in awe at Deanna, who was again sitting stiffly and gazing at the main viewer. As the ship continued on its slow turning course, a nacelle spun slowly into view.

"All stop," Jean-Luc ordered. "Report."

Carlisle's hands were already in motion. "I'm picking up something similar to warp trails -- three, heading away from this position. There is insufficient debris to account for an entire vessel. Long range scans are picking up vessels that match the configuration in the reports."

"Alter course to intercept. Red alert." Jean-Luc nodded to Deanna. "Good work, Commander."

Within minutes they caught up to the vessels only to find what was left of the _Rotarran_ in a tractor beam, being towed by two of the vessels. As the _Enterprise _dropped out of warp, the third vessel went to warp immediately. While deLio followed the order to attempt hailing the others, they terminated the tractor beams, then went to warp as well.

"The alien vessels had significant damage," Carlisle said.

"Likely the Klingons were nearly able to defend themselves," deLio added. "The aliens did not expect reinforcements. Fifteen life signs on the _Rotarran_."

"Hail them."

There was no response; the warbirds had no power, with one nacelle gone and significant damage to the vessel's systems. Jean-Luc frowned. "Take an away team, Commander, and make contact. Let them know we'll stand ready to provide medical aid and evacuation -- it's obvious they will require assistance."

"Sir." She departed, with deLio following. One of the officers left a secondary station to man tactical. Carlisle looked over his shoulder at Jean-Luc, then turned back to his console.

Jean-Luc thought he knew what was going through the second officer's mind. But he wasn't worried about Deanna. His concern at this point was whether he might be informing Chancellor Martok that General Kardan was dead. Carlisle continued to report that the Klingon warbird had hull breaches, the remaining nacelle was venting warp plasma, and there were numerous other failures.

"Troi to _Enterprise._ I am here with General Kardan. He is wounded but alive."

"Acknowledged. If he is in agreement, we can evacuate the remainder of the crew. The _Rotarran_ is losing atmosphere."

"Aye, sir. The crew is ready to be transported -- recommend medical teams, as many have been injured."

"Thank you, Commander. Mr. Carlisle, have all transporters begin locking on to life signs on the _Rotarran_ and beaming them aboard. Bridge to sickbay -- dispatch medical teams to all transporter rooms. Prepare to take on wounded Klingon crew." Jean-Luc considered cancelling the red alert, but the alien ships could return at any time, so he listened to his crew coordinate the rescue effort and waited for his first officer to return with the general.


	2. Chapter 2

Deanna left sickbay with the general slowly, the broad-shouldered, much-taller Klingon moving ponderously along the corridor. "Hum, hum," he said to himself in his gruff and gravelly bass, out of what was clearly long unconscious habit. He'd taken far too long replicating clean pieces of a new uniform. Klingon armor was too elaborate for her taste and he'd exclaimed over each section as he put it on, how the computer had been able to replicate it in his size after a brief scan. He had been injured but not gravely on the bridge of the _Rotarran_, trapped in his seat with a length of conduit pinning him there with a broken arm and leg. When she had materialized in front of him he'd been roaring orders to dead bridge officers and bleeding from his scalp.

They turned a corner and entered a turbolift. He squinted around at the walls, and she said, "Bridge."

"Aha," he exclaimed as the lift started to move. "I have not been on a Federation ship in a while. Voice activation, very clever."

"Are you hungry, General?"

He was; she sensed it, along with his general depression. She'd never met a depressed Klingon before. There was little on Klingon psychology and she expected none would be forthcoming, unless at some point the Empire allowed Federation clinicians to attempt helping the Klingons with what was clearly a post-war malaise. They were fighters with no war to fight, a treaty with the Federation, and the only opponents were either smaller weaker species or the Romulans, with whom the Empire had been sparring for centuries and were now at a standoff. Until these new unknown aliens appeared in the Empire. Clearly a Klingon with an aging battlecruiser and opponents strong enough to defeat him without difficulty was a depressed one.

"I will eat when the day is done, Commander," he said, rallying himself to be stalwart and strong, now that the bones were repaired and he could be. His one rheumy eye gazed down at her as they reached the bridge. But he didn't repeat his initial assessment of her, that she was surprisingly tiny for a Starfleet officer.

"It is customary for humans to eat meals with friends. You would honor the captain to take a meal with him." It would also mean the captain would eat. Jean-Luc was in full mission mode, neglecting regular meals.

Kardan laughed as only a Klingon could, with the loud rolling mirth of a deep chest and bold heart. It reminded her of how different Worf had been; her friend hadn't laughed easily. "Yes, so I have heard. I have had much contact with humans thanks to the war. You will be joining us?"

"I -- " She paused. The tasks she was about to claim could be delegated; the only reason she had the impulse to go arrange quarters for the Klingons was that she had done it as the counselor. One of the frequent assignments the captain would delegate to her once upon a time. "I will join you, after completing my last assigned task. If the captain wishes it."

"You are a good officer, Commander."

The door opened, and she preceded him down the bridge to stand in front of Captain Picard. He rose from his seat, greeted the general with a hearty _qapla'_ and gestured at the ready room door. "Come to my ready room. You, too, Commander," he said.

"I will be there momentarily, sir." She watched them go in, then turned to Carlisle. The red alert beacons were still blinking, she noted. "Ward, you have the conn. Ask the counselor to arrange quarters for the Klingon crew. Many of them will be released from sickbay shortly. Most had minimal injuries."

Carlisle turned from the ops console and stood up. "Aye, sir."

While the bridge officers rearranged themselves, she followed the captain and the general into the ready room, to find Jean-Luc already replicating food. A large meat sandwich, she observed. With a generous portion of peppers and other spicy items on it. It nearly turned her stomach. She wasn't tolerating meat well these days.

"Will you be eating with us, Commander?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Of course." She could hardly refrain, after pushing the general to do so. She crossed the room to the replicator alcove and keyed through menus so the general wouldn't question her choice of Aldanian rice pudding, the blandest thing she could think of that might have a hope of settling her stomach.

The sandwich turned out to be for the general. Jean-Luc had a more reasonably-proportioned version of it, with fewer peppers. Deanna sat carefully on the couch, which was mostly taken up by the general, and Jean-Luc took a seat in the chair facing them.

"This was not the meeting that I hoped to have, General. Do you have any more insight into these aliens who attacked your vessel?" Jean-Luc picked up his sandwich.

"They have cloaking devices," Kardan said. "We were pursuing one of them, and two others uncloaked on top of us. We did attempt to talk to them."

Deanna sensed the uptick in dismay, regret and guilt as he spoke. He was old enough to be the sort of Klingon who would shoot first, talk later if at all. If the general were anyone else, she might have said something reassuring. But he was Klingon, and reassurances were unnecessary. She put a spoonful of pudding in her mouth and let the mild vanilla-like sugary substance sit on her tongue, hoping to counter the effect of the smell of the sandwich.

"Our scans detected tetryon particles in their wake. It's suggestive of a very different engine configuration than ours. Helpful as well because now that we know this, detecting tetryons is a warning sign of their vessels in the immediate vicinity, even if they are cloaked, due to the rapid deterioration of the particle."

Kardan dropped the massive sandwich on his plate on the table and smacked his lips obnoxiously. "_That_ is useful, yes." He glanced at Deanna, and she thought he might have thumped her on the shoulder, if not for the fact that she held the bowl of pudding; his hand came up slightly but he reconsidered the action. "Commander Troi. Have you been in battle?"

She gave him an insulted look, glanced at Jean-Luc, and said, "Yes."

Kardan chuckled at her, at least not sounding too condescending. "I think you are not human?"

"Half. I know that I do not smell human." Klingons did not share the human bias about body odor, and tended to use their sense of smell more overtly. Worf, having lived among humans most of his life, had adapted to more human perspectives on the matter, but had shared with her that he did have a more acute sense of smell than he observed in humans.

"And you have been among Klingons," Kardan said with amused appreciation of that fact. "What do you think of us, Commander?"

She inhaled quietly to keep herself calm and considered how to respond. She'd been revisiting the culture, the events of the Dominion War, and thinking about conversations she'd had with Worf about the Empire, when they'd seen him at their wedding on Casperia. "Do you mean your culture, your government, or Klingons as people? They are not interchangeable."

Kardan raised his head slightly as if she'd challenged him. His hair was loose and fell almost to his elbows; older Klingons appeared to go gray as humans did. His curls were a mix of silver and gray. "What do you think of Klingon culture?"

She almost said something diplomatic. But one of the problems, historically, was that a culture that prided itself on being very much to the point and the opposite of the deviousness of the Romulans mistrusted the oblique compliments and reassurances of diplomacy. Deanna took a few more seconds to organize her thoughts and spoke honestly.

"I think that Klingons have reached a point at which major changes need to take place. Evolution isn't simply biological, societies do it as well. It seems to me that the Dominion War should have enlightened everyone involved that none of us is invulnerable, and we are stronger together. Particularly if the Borg become more active in this quadrant. And I do not doubt there are other forces similar to the Dominion yet to be encountered. Battle should not be the only option, if the Empire intends to continue."

He hum-hummed again, giving her a toothy smile. "You are one of many from the Federation to suggest this. But we are Klingons. Not pacifists."

"Betazoids are pacifists," Deanna said. "But I can behead you with a bat'leth."

Jean-Luc almost dropped his sandwich, shocked. Kardan laughed again, slapped her shoulder gently, and shook his shaggy head. "You are a funny one. I appreciate a sense of humor."

Deanna nodded at Jean-Luc. "Ask him if I'm joking."

Kardan turned to the captain. "She is no bigger than a bat'leth herself! Surely she is joking," he exclaimed, reaching again for the beef sandwich.

Jean-Luc smiled benignly at the Klingon. "She is not. I am sure that she would be happy to demonstrate. We have a holodeck should you wish a test of her lethality." A subtle way of establishing early that he would not permit battles between her and any Klingon, which she appreciated.

Kardan drew back, leaving the sandwich on the plate, and examined Deanna as if she'd morphed into some unexpected creature. Wagging his head a few times, he harrumphed. "I will take you up on this, when we are done here. Betazoid? That means you are telepathic, does it not?"

"It would if I were not half human. I'm better at sensing emotions than thoughts. You have not responded to my suggestion that change is an option. I submit that you have already changed, as a culture, and this is part of why you yourself are depressed, feeling forced to change along with it, or to retire, which you no doubt resist. Dying in battle is honorable and returning home reduces the chances of doing so."

Jean-Luc now disapproved, radiating ire, but Kardan was not at all upset. He raised a hand to point at her, grinning, showing his jagged smile full of gaps where teeth were missing. "Smart, and honest. And good with weapons. My first officer is dead -- if you find yourself bored in Starfleet, I have a place for you."

And he was interested in more than a first officer, from what she sensed. Apparently 'tiny' wasn't an impediment, after all. Deanna smiled coyly and shook her head. "I have no reason to leave my current post, or my current mate. But thank you for the compliment."

More chuckling, and he cuffed her shoulder again, with a little more force. Which meant more respect and less condescension from him. He turned back to Jean-Luc, who had watched the exchange but remarkably not said a word. "We should contact the _Kon'Ma_ and the _Kang_, which I sent on a wide patrol, and arrange a rendezvous. And then we might follow and attempt again to contact these strange warships, to determine their intentions. Perhaps your commander will be able to confront them and change their minds, as she has changed mine. And if we can have an ally instead of an adversary in these troubled times, so much the better." Kardan grabbed his sandwich with both hands and ate with gusto.

Jean-Luc gazed at Deanna with questions in his eyes, but of course, they had a guest, and would talk later. Jean-Luc ate a few more bites, then returned to the replicator and brought back a glass of water. "Would you care for a beverage, General?"

"The replicator makes passable blood wine." Deanna took another bite of pudding. She'd hit a pocket of the spice; it filled her mouth with a melange reminiscent of cinnamon and cloves, though not in sufficient intensity to really qualify as truly spicy. It helped offset the smell of the beef. 

"Give me something Betazoid. I am curious," Kardan said. 

"Ketran tea, without _hilrep_. It should suit your palate," Deanna said. She already knew that Klingons were sensitive to _hilrep_, which was a frequent ingredient in Betazoid food. She'd had to take Worf to sickbay once to find that out. Jean-Luc put his glass on the table and returned to the replicator, bringing back two more -- the one he handed her contained her usual ebi'lan. 

Kardan took the glass offered to him and drank, then held it up to her and nodded approval. "Very good."

"How many battles have you fought with these aliens?" Jean-Luc asked, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

"We destroyed one of their vessels after they attacked one of our bases on the Romulan border. There have been sightings of the alien warships but if we outnumber them they flee, and they are not using a method of propulsion that we can track. Until now," Kardan said with grin. He waved the glass vaguely and drained the tea, placed it on the table with a crack, and reached for what was left of the sandwich. Which Deanna approved of -- the faster he finished, the faster she could stop smelling it. "I sent the other two ships to patrol without anticipating one of our first systems to go down would be communications."

"I'll go have deLio contact the _Kon'Ma _and the _Kang _to have them rendezvous with us," Deanna said. "Should we take the _Rotarran_ in tow?"

Jean-Luc gave Kardan a questioning look. The general waved the hand holding what was left of the sandwich. "We should take it to our nearest base."

She left the spice pudding on the end table on her way out.

The bridge was quiet, and Carlisle stood up from the captain's chair as she joined him. "I stepped down to yellow alert," he said. "Nothing on long range scans. No tetryon particles either."

"Good. Mr. deLio, contact the _Kon'Ma _and the _Kang. _Let them know that the _Rotarran_ has been attacked, and request that they rendezvous with us at General Kardan's request."

deLio nodded and bent to the task. She glanced around the bridge, noticed Matteo looking at her again, and turned back to Ward. He hadn't noticed; he held a padd, punched in something, and turned it so she could take a look.

"There were five serious injuries," he said. "The rest have been released to quarters. Counselor Davidson gave each of our guests a brief orientation to how to access information from the computer, before letting them leave sickbay. They know where the holodecks are and how to determine when one is free, and also where the gym is."

"I have sent a message," deLio said, looking up from his panel. "We have received an acknowledgement from both vessels that they are on the way to meet us. Estimated time of arrival, fifteen and thirty minutes, respectively."

"We'll be taking the _Rotarran_ in tow, to deliver it to the nearest Klingon base once the other ships have arrived," Deanna said. "Coordinate with engineering to determine whether we need to stabilize the Bird of Prey before locking a tractor onto it."

"Yes, sir," Carlisle said. 

Deanna returned to the ready room. When the door opened, she found the two men sitting there with beverages in hand, the plates gone. She took her pudding and recycled it, then returned to sit stiffly on the end of the couch. Since they had stopped talking and sat expectantly, she said, "Both ships are on their way and we're getting ready to take the _Rotarran_ in tow. Most of your crew have been released to quarters, five remain in sickbay."

Kardan huffed, his beard moving with the force of his exhale. "And a dozen dead, three of them my bridge officers."

"We'll stop this," Jean-Luc said. "Whatever is motivating these attacks, we'll get to the cause."

Kardan gazed at him solemnly. It wasn't like a Klingon to be silent.

"Do you know why they are attacking?" Deanna asked quietly. Since she'd established something of a rapport it made sense for her to be a little more bold in pushing for more.

Kardan's single eye was tired, and the low mood returned in force. He cocked his head and tried to smile at her. "Not at all. There is no theory, either -- an invasion force would arrive with a larger push, more vessels, there would be a move against one of our colonies or even the Homeworld. If they were pirates, they would board and search for goods. Attempting to take us alive might suggest slavers, but our ship was losing atmosphere, why would they not remove the survivors from the wreckage? Nothing makes any sense. They attack when they can, they avoid what they cannot attack, they say nothing to us. The paranoid among us claim Romulan treachery."

He paused, either to gather his thoughts or for effect. Glancing to Jean-Luc, he turned back to Deanna and sipped from his glass before continuing.

"The High Council wanted me to mount a defense, to spread our fleet along the borders. I resisted because we do not yet know how many of these warships there are. Deploying the entire fleet at once when we do not yet know the true nature of the threat seemed foolish. And, at the same time I told them this, I realized that nothing would be the same again. That we are brought low, in our poverty -- we lack the warships that we need to truly defend the Empire. The Dominion War taught us that we could be brought to the brink of ruin. Two hundred thousand and more warriors, and their vessels, all gone. The shipyards are busy but our recruitment is slow. So we cannot defend ourselves, so Martok contacted the Federation despite the rage from others who fiercely hold to the idea that we are Klingons, we do not need assistance. But that is a lie."

"You are not alone in this," Jean-Luc said. 

"We are not. Which is why I thank you, Captain Picard, for your willingness to be here. I know -- you will say that you are following orders. But you do not strike me as someone who simply follows orders, just as your first officer fails to be just another Starfleet officer who conforms to expectations." Kardan hauled his bulk up from the couch, and Deanna moved out of his way to stand in front of the fish tank so he had room to maneuver out of the room.

"I would like to speak to Commander Koroth and Commander Lokar," Kardan said. Jean-Luc gestured at the door, let the Klingon precede them out to the bridge, and Deanna followed Jean-Luc.

Since the counselor's seat was empty, Jean-Luc offered it to Kardan, then sat down himself. Deanna glanced around as she went to her own seat. Matteo had been startled earlier, when she had sensed the anger and anxiety from the Klingons that tipped her off to the attack, but he seemed to have settled down. deLio nodded to her and Ward smiled as he crossed to the operations station.

The first contact was with the _Kon'ma_, and the younger officer on the screen turned out to be Koroth. Kardan was no longer jovial; he sat up stiff in the chair, hands on his knees, feet planted wide, proud and authoritative. "Commander. Report!"

"We did not detect the enemy," Koroth announced. "But you were attacked!"

"Outnumbered, again," Kardan intoned. "We will take the _Rotarran _to Base 245. Then we will continue to patrol the border, and I will stay aboard the _Enterprise_. You may take on officers from the _Rotarran _crew on temporary assignment as you need."

"_lu', qaH!_" Koroth clapped his fist to his chest. The screen flicked back to a view of the stars as the channel terminated.

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna as deLio announced that he had Lokar on an open channel. They listened to the same back and forth, almost word for word, between the female commander of the _Kang_ and the general. As the channel closed, the captain said, "Mr. Carlisle, are we ready to proceed to Base 245?"

"The _Rotarran_ has been secured and we have a tractor lock on it. Safe maximum speed is warp two, sir."

deLio added, "The _Kon'ma_ and the _Kang_ have arrived. They are falling into formation aft and starboard."

"Let them know we are proceeding to the base, warp factor two. Mr. Matteo, engage."

The helmsman complied, and within minutes they were traveling at warp. Kardan leaned forward slightly, looking around at the bridge. "Would it be possible to have a look around? I have never been aboard a Sovereign class warship."

"Commander Troi," deLio interrupted. "Dr. Mengis is requesting your presence in sickbay."

"Thank you, deLio." She shot a look at the captain, he nodded, and she left through the aft turbolift.

When she entered main sickbay, there were still a few Klingons on biobeds, but one man stood near the entrance. She knew him at once -- sensed his happiness before he smiled and said her name. Holding out her arms, she cried, "Alexander!"

Unlike his father, Alexander didn't care about propriety. He picked her up and hugged her gleefully, laughing and kissing her cheek. He put her down again and shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. It's good to see you."

"Did your father tell you about the wedding? I was so disappointed you couldn't be there," she said.

"I wanted to come. They don't let us take so much time away, though. Maybe you have pictures?" Alexander said. He was so tall! Almost as tall as Will Riker, and with a short beard now. His skin and hair were perhaps a shade lighter than most Klingons but not unusually so. His eyes were the giveaway of his mixed parentage, lighter than the typical dark chocolate-brown most Klingons had. 

"We do! Doctor," Deanna said, as Mengis came to her. "You wanted to see me?"

"I was asked by this young man if he could see you. So I contacted the bridge on his behalf. Mr. Rozhenko is free to go," Mengis said. 

"Thank you. We may be dining with the general tonight, depending, just to warn you that we may need those dress uniforms." She smiled at the doctor as she turned to go. "Have you been on the _Rotarran_ for very long?"

Alexander took the hint and walked with her out of sickbay. "I have been aboard since before the end of the war. I'm a better warrior than I ever thought I would be. I can use a bat'leth now that I'm big enough to pick one up."

They laughed together, going into the lift. "Your father said good things about you at the wedding."

"This isn't like the _Enterprise_ I grew up on," Alexander said. He touched the wall of the lift.

"Computer, location of Alexander Rozhenko's quarters," Deanna said.

_Alexander Rozhenko has been assigned quarters on deck seven, section three, cabin four._

"Same computer voice though," Alexander said.

While they rode in the lift toward his quarters Deanna eyed the young man. "Do you have a _par'mach'kai_?"

Alexander rolled his eyes dramatically. "No!"

"Your father said you did," she said, chiding.

"Counselor," he exclaimed indignantly. In that moment, he sounded so much like his father that she almost laughed. A familiar sequence -- the scolding followed by not laughing at the Klingon who did not like being mocked. But this was Alexander, who loved to laugh.

The turbolift changed directions. Prematurely, she thought -- that meant someone was about to join them. "I'm not the ship's counselor any more, Alexander. I'm the first officer."

He grinned. "I know. It was what I called you, just a reflex. I'll do better."

"It's not a problem. I'm still getting used to it myself."

"How's your mom?"

The lift stopped and the door opened. General Kardan strode in, and Alexander came to attention. In seconds, she sensed how it was, as if watching the body language hadn't shown it. Alexander tense as a man expecting to be scolded, the general frowning at him. Deanna smiled at Jean-Luc as he followed the general into the lift.

"Alexander," she said warmly, to get Jean-Luc's attention and re-introduce them. He probably wouldn't recognize the young man.

His face lit up with surprise and he exclaimed, "Well, hello! It's good to see you. Welcome back!"

"Thank you, Captain," Alexander replied in the baritone that went with his broader chest and adult stature. Hints of the boy were there but hard to find.

"I was just showing him to his quarters."

"You know Lieutenant Rozhenko," Kardan rumbled with a note of surprise.

"Oh, yes. His father was our security officer, on the prior incarnation of the _Enterprise_," Jean-Luc said. "Although you weren't quite as tall then."

Alexander laughed with surprised joy at the warm teasing manner of the captain he'd once held in awe. "I recall that you were taller, sir. Something must have happened in transport?"

Jean-Luc's smile became a little strained at the reminder of the transporter accident that had turned him into a child for a few days. But he rallied and let it pass without comment. "I hope you are able to spend some time with us, despite the seriousness of the mission."

"Perhaps the lieutenant should join us for your demonstration of your prowess with the bat'leth, Commander," Kardan said.

There were layers to that statement, some of which became apparent in Alexander's wariness. Deanna understood, because she sensed the disdain beneath the suggestion, that there was more going on. But she turned to look at Alexander with a welcoming, approving smile. "If you wish to come."

"You use a bat'leth?" His happiness was overriding his anxiety. "Maybe you can give me pointers."

"Computer, redirect turbolift to the nearest open holodeck."


	3. Chapter 3

Jean-Luc hung back with the general, as Deanna strode through the holodeck door and asked for the program she wanted.

"The Empire does not put holodecks aboard our vessels," Kardan commented as they strolled into a large room, wood panels all around and a smooth, black floor. In the corner nearest the arch a rack on the wall held an assortment of weapons. "But it seems it has a certain utility."

"The holodeck serves several purposes," Deanna said, taking off her black and gray jacket and hanging it on the end of the rack. She reached for the longer of two bat'leths on the rack. Her modifications to the Klingon sword included lighter, stronger metal and additional length to improve her reach. As she held it in both hands Jean-Luc had to admit that Kardan had been right -- she was barely bigger than her bat'leth.

"Is she as good as she boasts?" Kardan asked, taking a few steps forward. He carried himself like an emperor, or perhaps a chancellor. Jean-Luc wondered if he had such aspirations. He knew Kardan had distinguished himself in the war, had been elevated to general shortly after Martok had become chancellor. That suggested that Kardan was honorable as well as honest. Martok had done an impressive job of dealing with corruption in the Klingon government, holding the Great Houses accountable for the double-dealing and backstabbing that had become commonplace while warriors publicly claimed loyalty and honor. Kardan himself belonged to no House -- an interesting departure from tradition. Deanna was correct that change was coming to the Empire.

"I confess that I have not attended many of the tournaments and classes she has held," Jean-Luc said. "I have yet to determine how good a fighter she is."

It was a tease as well as the honest truth. Deanna smirked as she started swinging the sword, making smooth passes in the air as she advanced across the room. She'd braided and put up her hair in a tightly-pinned helmet that morning, as she had been since starting her new job. The cavernous dojo echoed with the scuffing sounds of her boots on the floor. She swept low gracefully, sending the blade in a smooth circle just inches from the floor, rose to bring it point first in a thrust upward, following through as the blade angled to cut -- possibly behead an opponent -- on the horizontal plane.

Kardan started to chuckle. Alexander, who had hung back along the wall, trying to be unobtrusive, sidled over to stand next to Jean-Luc. They exchanged a glance. Jean-Luc thought that Deanna was a master of timing. Stringing the general along, building the expectation that this was all she would be doing, while she warmed up and stretched for the battle to come, which if the attitude of those officers who attended her classes was any indication, would likely stun the Klingon. 

Deanna stopped in the far corner, turned around, and said, "Computer, start at level one."

A single Klingon warrior materialized in the middle of the room. Taller than both Alexander and Kardan, broad shouldered, holding a bat'leth. He shouted a challenge and charged. Deanna dispatched him within minutes, fending off a series of blows then planting the end of the bat'leth in his chest. The warrior fell away, dematerializing as two more appeared in the middle of the room.

Kardan huffed audibly as she beat back the two, ducking and striking and feinting until the one missed her and knocked the other aside. After the two were dispatched as the first had been, three more took their place. Jean-Luc started to worry about her at five warriors; the level of difficulty was doubled with each additional opponent and while she'd insisted such activity wasn't a risk to the pregnancy, there had to be a point at which it was.

"Computer, freeze program," she called out after the fifth warrior fell down and vanished. No more warriors appeared. She straightened, swung the bat'leth in a figure eight with one arm, planted it in the floor with a jab, and came back to them, sweat patches showing through her shirt and her hair starting to frizz and come out of the braid. "Have I answered the question of whether I can use a bat'leth, General?"

He laughed, with more abandon than before. "You use your size to your advantage. Excellent." He turned to Alexander. "You could learn from this one!"

"Yes, General," Alexander agreed, with no trace of resentment.

"Perhaps the general would like to see his quarters, if his curiosity has been assuaged?" Jean-Luc gestured at the arch. "We will arrive at the base within the hour."

Kardan seemed annoyed, for a moment, but hum-hummed and gestured at Deanna. "You do not wish to continue?"

"Given that we are embarking on a mission that could lead to battle at any time, perhaps I should not expend so much effort." She headed to the rack to get her jacket. "And you just came out of sickbay, yourself. You should rest. It isn't logical to fatigue yourself on the eve of a battle."

"Logic -- you sound like a Vulcan now." Kardan waved a hand. "I suppose you are right. Old men need their rest. Your counselor said that my room was on deck six?"

"I can show the general to his quarters," Alexander said helpfully.

Kardan gave a nod to that. "I will see you at dinner, Captain." He swung around and headed for the arch. Alexander smiled at Jean-Luc, nodded to Deanna, and followed his commanding officer.

After the door closed, Jean-Luc turned to his first officer. "Must you flirt with the general?"

She laughed at him, shocked and disbelieving. "You think I don't know the difference between flirting and establishing respect? Did you see any bite marks on him?"

He felt a moment of dislocation and surprise. "Computer, terminate program," he said, and then they were standing on the grid. She started to walk and he turned to go with her, as she draped the jacket over her arm and held it in front of her.

She went back to their quarters, and he followed without comment. Once they were inside and the door closed, he stopped. She noticed he wasn't following her toward the bedroom and turned back, tossing the jacket to the end of the couch. "Jean?"

"Being in the background while we were on Romulus, I was able to pay more attention to how adept you are at handling tricky conversations. Though if I think about that further, it is of course what you have always done as a counselor." He smiled, thinking about his own history of awkward conversations with Counselor Troi. "I held my tongue in the meeting with the general because I anticipated that you would be as successful with the Klingons. But I did not expect you to threaten him."

Deanna wasn't surprised by this, probably would never be surprised by anyone with emotions she could sense. "It was, but it wasn't. You know that bluster is common between Klingons. Speaking the language isn't simply using the correct words. Proficient speakers use nuances of the language. Have you ever read about the first contact that the Vulcans had with the Klingons, prior to the formation of the Federation?"

"I can't say that I have," Jean-Luc said.

"You should. And then review the logs of the captain of the _Shenzhou_, who did not follow their example, adhering to Starfleet protocol not to fire first and plunged the Federation into war with the Klingons. Sometimes firing a phaser is not an act of war. Sometimes it is a gesture of respect. There are those in the Klingon Empire who understand now that Starfleet policy is a cultural difference rather than disrespect. But the older warriors remember a time when they spoke a different language with their weapons." She turned for the bedroom. "I'm going to change before I join you on the bridge."

Which was a subtle reminder that they were still on duty. He sighed and went out, returned to the ready room as Ward reported they were still in transit to the Klingon base, and requested the information that Deanna suggested. She had after all been the one who had helped him prepare for innumerable difficult negotiations with other species, had done a great deal of research on his behalf, and now it seemed she had done so again. He had reviewed his own logs and more recent information. Apparently she had gone all the way back to the early days of the many conflicts between the Empire and the Federation.

He reviewed the information she had suggested, and went on to other, later conflicts. He tried to stick to summaries, but she was right. Nuances mattered. The more he listened to the logs of diplomats and other Starfleet captains, the more he could understand why she had been that thorough.

The annunciator sounded as he finished listening to a log entry of a Klingon commander. "Come," he called out after pausing the computer's translation of the entry. Deanna had tidied her hair and wore a fresh uniform. She approached his desk and took a seat before him.

"I doubt that I have done in half an hour as much as you have done. But enough to understand what you wanted me to see. How much have you reviewed?"

She folded her hands and wasn't at all emotional. Her composure on duty more closely resembled what she had been in counseling sessions, than how she had been on the bridge prior to becoming first officer. Since she had moved in with him he had had more opportunity to see her in all her moods and varying levels of focus. It gave him better context for understanding her current mood.

"I spent several hours a day while we were traveling here from Earth, using search terms focused on situations in which a conflict started or ended. I reviewed more thoroughly the events of the Dominion War and spoke with Worf specifically about his role in Martok's ascension, and his time aboard Martok's warbird prior to it. Having a better sense of their cultural history helped me ask him specific questions."

"The sort of research you used to do as the counselor," he commented.

Deanna's fleeting expression of dismay surprised him. "I just did it myself, without thinking of asking the counselor. But you didn't request a briefing."

"The Federation has been allies with Klingons for quite a while now. I admit that I hadn't thought much past the war, or considered the radical changes that had to be taking place in the Empire."

"Different changes than we go through in the Federation, since most Federation member worlds wanted peace and safety, and Klingons value a tradition that elevates prowess in battle. The losses were great in the war, so the less violent members of their society point out, and they are not wrong, that battle is short-sighted. Rebuilding is necessary. The civil struggles that usually result in deaths should be set aside. Defending the Empire will require a larger fighting force than they currently have, if the Romulans decide to cross the boundary."

Jean-Luc leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. He thought about it for another few minutes, while she waited. "We should have discussed this before we got here," he said at last.

Her gaze fell. She did the same, took the time to compose her thoughts. "I wasn't predicting that my conversation with the general would go as it has, and I wasn't intentionally leaving you out of it. I started to do the research out of insecurity. I should have spoken to you before I engaged with the general."

"Except you didn't predict that it would be necessary to rescue the Klingons, rather than a straightforward rendezvous that provided you with an initial impression of him, yet gave you time to debrief me before we met him face to face."

She frowned, still looking downward.

"Commander?"

"If I were Will, would you have said that?"

She thought he was excusing her behavior. It had always irritated him when an officer started to second guess, and this was no exception. He sighed, leaning back in the chair heavily. "You are attempting to be a first officer and feeling as though you are failing somehow. All I ask is that you be a first officer. This research project of yours is useful in helping me understand why you handled the general as you did, and it's illuminating that the Vulcans were able to adapt to a situation where a Starfleet captain was not. So I will not revise my statement, nor will I permit comparisons to other officers."

Deanna finally looked at him. Her sobriety and the doubt in her eyes were not reassuring.

"You know that I expect my senior officers to speak freely," he said. "Especially my first officer."

She almost spoke, but closed her mouth again. Looked away for a few seconds, then tried again. "You don't call me Number One. Is there a reason for that?"

It shocked him -- but she was correct. He hadn't, though he'd referred to previous first officers in that manner, using a traditional form of address that Starfleet captains had often used. He huffed, indulging in a moment of self-examination to understand why. "I'm not entirely certain. It wasn't intentional. Is that your preference?"

The admission seemed to resolve the matter for her. She smiled, though it was pale imitation of even her usual formal version used on duty. "I do not have a preference, sir."

"But you thought that I had a reason for not doing so. You must admit, you occupy a unique and entirely new role in my life. It doesn't feel right somehow, to use a term that applied to so many others."

"It's your prerogative, Captain." She seemed to settle. Her eyes met his, and the concerning little wrinkle in her brow was gone. "Would you like me to arrange a formal dinner with the general and the senior staff?"

"Let's confirm with the general before we commit to that. We still have a few hours."

"Is there anything else, sir?"

Jean-Luc smiled at that. "Have deLio open a channel to Starfleet Command. I'd like to update the admiral on the situation."

"Yes, sir."

After she was gone, he slumped in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Not something he could have predicted -- still, resolving it without either of them snapping at the other despite the tension was a good sign. He had more questions but he could ask them later, when they were off duty and able to devote time to the personal side of the situation. It was clear that it would take more effort than he thought to work through all the changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced: No Paradise, a previous story in this series, and ST: Discovery, S1E1.


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna went to the general's door. He'd been placed in one of the diplomatic suites, and when she was admitted, she found him standing in the middle of the room holding a crystal vase. It was an incongruous scene. The suite was decorated in warm creams, reds, browns and gold, with things like vases and prints of famous paintings from various Federation worlds. A Klingon warrior in armor stood in stark contrast to the opulence. Kardan put the vase down on the end table carefully, and turned to her as if afraid to touch anything.

"We have arrived at the base," she said. "The base commander has taken the _Rotarran _in for repair. The disposition of your crew is at your order, General."

Rather than being jovial as he'd been before, Kardan considered her soberly and seemed resigned. "I took the promotion because Martok needed generals. I should have taken my ship into the heat of battle instead of falling back as ordered, in that last battle with the Dominion."

"Does StoVoKor accept warriors who recklessly fly into battle to avoid the long, more arduous sort of fight to rebuild one's society?" she asked.

His head jerked up, nostrils flaring, and for a split second she thought she might need a weapon -- but he smiled. "You say that we are fighting for our future. Not the first to say it -- but I am more suited to battle than to struggle." He swung his arm up as if he held a sword, perhaps out of reflex at the thought of fighting. His gray and silver hair, hanging like a cape from the crown of his head above the crenelated ridges, and the healed weal where his eye had been, suggested that hand-to-hand combat was in his past, however.

"Fighting isn't always done with a knife or a fist. There have been times that I felt I was fighting my own nature, doing what needed to be done. Would you have expected a Betazoid with a bat'leth?"

Kardan laughed at that. He gripped the collar of his armor in both hands. "I would not expect a Starfleet officer with a bat'leth. A Betazoid Starfleet officer, that is twice as unexpected."

"Are we sending your crew to the other two vessels?"

He grunted. "I will contact them and dispatch warriors to them. The remainder may stay at the base." He seemed to be scrutinizing her.

"We can assemble your crew in one of the larger conference rooms if you would like to address them in person. Is there something that concerns you?" she asked, staring back at him.

"The lieutenant informed me that you were his father's _par'mach'kai_," Kardan said unexpectedly. It took a minute for her to recognize that he meant Alexander. 

"Some years ago, yes." She turned to go, trying to signal that was not up for discussion. 

"The more I learn about other species, the more I see that we limit ourselves with our assumptions," Kardan said.

Deanna hesitated, looking directly at him. Not facing a Klingon was disrespectful. The general seemed to be debating internally over something. He gestured as if waving away a fly and started stomping toward the door. She went with him, patiently shortening her stride to walk alongside. He seemed to have a hip injury that made him shuffle. They were down the corridor almost to the turbolift before he spoke again.

"Do your people hold to your old ways and traditions?"

Deanna thought about her mother, smiling sadly. "Some of us try. It's difficult."

"What do you mean?"

The general was an interesting sort of Klingon, indeed. Most wouldn't bother to explore further than the generality. "We were in centuries past very different. We had ruling families, led by strong, influential women. Today most of the Houses are museums, and one representative from each family looks after the traditions and the upkeep of their House. Some of us try to walk a balance between modern culture and the old. But the old ways are largely incompatible with our current society."

Kardan stopped at the mention of the Houses. "I did not know that Betazoids had Houses. How many are there? Do they comprise the government as ours do?"

"Some of us run for office. Our leaders are elected. It was different before, the Houses were more like yours. Although we did not have so many weapons or wars. Our differences were settled without bloodshed."

He stared at her as if she'd suggested the most terrible of fates. But then he exhaled, nodded, hum-hummed and turned to enter the turbolift. "Klingons have historically believed cultures such as yours to be weak. Ideal slaves."

"I know," she said, following him inside. "Bridge."

"You know?" He sounded surprised. 

"Did you expect me to hold it against you? Do you intend to enslave me? I know that Klingons continue to evolve."

"But we honor Kahless, in any way we can," he exclaimed a little more loudly than he'd been talking, so obviously defensive.

"I do not allow the past to be an impediment to my future," she said firmly. "Otherwise I would be on Betazed, in the Fifth House, not learning mok'bara or traveling the stars with my husband. Definitely I would not be speaking to you -- if I were attempting to live my life as my great-great-great-great grandmother did, I would not be speaking aloud. I would not deign to learn all the languages that I speak, or bother myself with understanding other cultures at all. I would not be half human."

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Eight fluently, seven others passably. I am learning my husband's native language."

"Your husband is not Betazoid," he said, half-questioning. "Human?"

Deanna looked up at the general and decided not to demur or deflect. Kardan smiled, as she tilted her head and eyed him.

"You've already met him," she said, letting him draw the conclusion. The only real interaction he had had with any _Enterprise_ crew during his short time aboard had been with the captain. His shaggy brows rose visibly. 

"I see," he replied. "I was not aware that Starfleet allowed that."

"Starfleet allows officers to marry."

"Of course. I know that Worf married another officer, while he was in Starfleet. But neither one was in command. It is an interesting commonality," Kardan said, as the lift stopped and the doors opened. "In the Empire, it is not uncommon for a warrior in command to have his mate as his second in command."

"I was not aware of that."

They left the turbolift and sallied forth onto the bridge, and Deanna stopped at tactical. "Mr. deLio, the general would like to contact his commanders to issue orders."

She stepped around behind the L'norim and went down the bridge, leaving the general to deLio. As she sat down next to the captain, he glanced at her with a look that was one part amusement, two parts tolerant resignation. A classic expression for him. Clearly he'd heard the general's last comment to her.

_"bangwI’vaD jImatlhchu’ ‘ej jIHvaD matlhchu’ bangwI’" _she said.

Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows, and instead of blustering, as he had occasionally done before when an irrelevant comment was made on the bridge, or not responding at all, as he usually did, he said, "_Je suis mon bien-aimé et mon bien-aimé est à moi."_

Deanna nodded, appreciating that he had understood and repeated the phrase in French. She noticed Matteo, still sitting at the helm, watching them. Since he was turned around instead of facing his station, she gazed back at him until he noticed and turned back to his duties.

Meanwhile, behind them, the general finished giving his two ship commanders orders in Klingon. He strode down the bridge to stand in front of them. "They will contact the _Rotarran_ crew one at a time, to reassign them temporarily. I am leaving my engineering crew here at the base. I have retained two officers to remain aboard with me, until we conclude this joint mission. Your doctor also said that the two critically injured may remain in your sickbay under his care?"

"Of course," Jean-Luc said. He gestured at the empty chair beside him, and Kardan sat down again. "Then we will depart on patrol after the transfer is complete. We should discuss further with a map of the region -- come to the observation lounge."

Deanna stayed seated as she was not included, and watched the captain and the general cross in front of her to the briefing room. Once they were gone inside Ward looked back at her, clearly amused. "The general is different from other Klingons I've met."

"I'm sure the more that the Klingons work with other species, instead of fighting with them, the more their attitudes will change. Adaptation is after all necessary for survival." Deanna noticed Matteo glancing at her again, and decided that it might be good to have a face to face with him. Perhaps after the ship was under way again. "Have we started to transport the _Rotarran_ crew yet?"

"Yes, transporter rooms are fully engaged in sending them to the _Kon'Ma _and the _Kang_," deLio said.

Deanna glanced at her display, still set to show the results of ongoing sensor sweeps. "Ward, what is the fifth blip on the scanners?" There should be two Birds of Prey, the _Enterprise_, and the base, she thought.

"There's another vessel in a wide orbit around the base. It's _Vor'cha_ class. Assigned to the base." The general's vessel was a Bird of Prey, smaller than the _Vor'cha_ class but the _Rotarran_ had been Martok's during the Dominion War. Klingons were sentimental that way.

"Are there any signs of cloaked vessels in the area?" Klingon cloaking devices generally caused slight distortions that were noticeable. Romulan cloaks left traces as well, chroniton particles were a known indicator. Now that they knew the alien vessels were detectable by looking for tetryons, Ward would be continually running scans. Deanna looked at the main viewer, which showed the base in the right half of the screen. As she focused on what she sensed in her surroundings, scanning more widely, she started to feel a sense of foreboding that she found unusual. She was anticipating battle on this mission, dreading it as she always had, but this was different. 

"Nothing," Ward said. "None of the usual telltales are present."

"How many life signs on the base?"

Ward turned his chair to look at her. "That's an unusual request."

Deanna frowned at the pushback from the second officer, then second-guessed herself. Then rallied -- she knew the typical crew complements of the Klingon vessels, she knew the size their own crew, and she was definitely sensing more than that. She wasn't able to get a head count, but after all this time, after years of being aboard the _Enterprise_, she had a sense of the difference between a planet with thousands to millions of sentient life forms, and a starbase. What she sensed was definitely more than any starbase; fewer than a planet-bound population, but many more than the four ships and starbase could account for.

"It's an order, Mr. Carlisle."

He turned and ran the scan. "Two hundred sixty-four."

She stood and headed for the observation lounge. "You have the bridge, Commander."

When she was let in, she approached the table, over which a holographic map of the sector glowed. Jean-Luc was seated at the head of the table and Kardan at his right hand, both of them watching her approach. "Commander?" Jean-Luc asked.

"There are two hundred sixty-four people on the base. Nine hundred eighty on our own ship, and likely another three hundred altogether on the Klingon vessels here. But I'm sensing more people than that. Nothing is showing on sensors but I have a hunch that there are a lot more vessels around us than we can see."

Jean-Luc was on his feet immediately, but caught himself and stood with crossed arms. "You're sure about this?"

"I wouldn't say anything if I were not. I'm definitely picking up unfamiliar sentient life forms in sufficient numbers to know there are thousands more than apparent. My range is significant but not infinite. We have fewer than one thousand five hundred persons accounted for, and I sense three times that."

Jean-Luc automatically looked to the viewports. Nothing was visible there save the stars. "These can't be other Klingon vessels running cloaked?"

"I would know if they were. I deployed the fleet with a care for the current standoff with the Romulans," Kardan said. "Most of them are in groups of four to six vessels, patrolling. Many are at the homeworld. This base is assigned a single _Vor'cha_ and can call for others, patrolling in the sector within minutes at high warp."

"There's little we can do about cloaked vessels if we cannot see them on sensors," Jean-Luc said.

"I understand that. But I knew you would want to know." Deanna glanced at the sector map, noting the red icons shaped like Birds of Prey. It looked as though the purple line would be their route; it led the icon shaped like the _Enterprise_ along the zone between the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Empire, the latter shaded in green. "Have you mapped the attacks yet?"

The general started to give the order for the computer to mark specific coordinates. But Deanna felt a rush of foreboding, as if she were being sent a warning. She turned to the viewports and stared at the stars, waiting for some clue of what it was about.

"Red alert! Captain to bridge," Carlisle's voice summoned out of thin air.

When the three of them emerged from the observation lounge, the red alert beacons were flashing. Deanna looked to Jean-Luc, as he stopped in the center of the bridge. "Report."

"Weapons fire on long range scans," Carlisle said, displacing the lieutenant who'd been at ops while he had the conn.

"Can you identify who it is," Deanna exclaimed. Kardan gazed wide-eyed at her, as if she had focused on the wrong piece of the crisis and surprised him.

"Polaron based weaponry -- it's neither Klingon nor Starfleet," Carlisle said. "And doesn't conform to any spectral analysis we have on file for those species who do use polaron-based weapons."

"Signal the _Kon'ma _and the _Kang_," Jean-Luc said. "Inform them we are proceeding to investigate -- are the transfers completed?"

"Aye, sir, all the Klingon officers have transported to their destinations and we are ready to depart," deLio announced. 

"We should travel as a fleet, strength in numbers," Kardan exclaimed. "Inform Lokar and Koroth it is my order to remain in formation and accompany the _Enterprise_."

Deanna sat down, while deLio passed along Kardan's order and the captain told Matteo to get them under way, warp factor seven. They were at the site of the battle in minutes, and when they dropped out of warp the main viewer showed nearly a dozen vessels, some that looked like the ones that had damaged the _Rotarran_ and another type that she'd never seen before -- they were smaller, darker, with a pointed nose and long slender main hull that terminated in a forked apparatus that glowed. She didn't have time to take in much detail. The sense of foreboding that she'd had before redoubled itself, and now it felt like pressure inside her head trying to push out of her cranium.

She gulped in air, trying to recover and fend off the sensation. It wasn't going anywhere. Pressing her palms to her temples, she did her best not to make a sound. At the very least she could avoid disrupting the bridge. She fought it and started to panic when she couldn't make it go away, and thought desperately about the Cenophytes -- was this a group of them trying to fight off the other aliens?

It was as though the Cenophytes had been listening for her; she felt them suddenly manifest themselves in her mind, pushing away the others. And then she opened her eyes, though she hadn't been aware of closing them, and found herself looking up into the face of the doctor.

"I don't see anything amiss, but it's obvious from her brain chemistry that she was communicating with someone telepathically," Mengis said, standing back from her chair. 

Deanna glanced down at the panel on the arm of her chair, then at the viewer. The battle was over. Red alert canceled. "How long was I out?" 

Mengis closed his medical tricorder and turned to look at Jean-Luc. "The battle didn't last long. The aliens ran when we dropped out of warp, and the other vessels cloaked and vanished from sensors. When you wouldn't respond to me I called for the doctor. Did you make contact with one of the aliens?"

She glanced at Kardan, standing beyond her captain with a concerned expression. She couldn't mention the Cenophytes while he was in the room. Their existence was to remain a closely-held secret. But as she thought about the experience she decided she wouldn't need to name names. "I think we need a staff meeting. I have information."

"Good," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "We need to know more about what this is about."

"Meeting?" Kardan blurted. "The aliens fled. We should pursue them while the trail of tetryons is detectable." 

Deanna stood, straightened her jacket, and fled to the observation lounge. She sat near the head of the table, waited for the senior staff to go to their usual places, and for the general to join them. Geordi usually sat to her right but he was the last to arrive, and she indicated for Kardan to sit with her, so the engineer took a chair at the other end of the table. 

"Mr. LaForge, perhaps you have not met General Kardan, in command of the Klingon fleet, who is with us for the duration of the mission," Jean-Luc said as he took his seat at the head of the table. "Lieutenant-Commander LaForge is our chief engineer. Mr. Matteo, do you have something to say?"

The current helmsman was seated across from Deanna and did seem somewhat upset. He'd only been at the helm for a month, on alpha shift. Previously he had been at the helm on beta shift. "No, sir," he said at last.

"Commander?" Jean-Luc folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked at her expectantly.

"The second species is not telepathic. But they project emotions, very well. It's their main defense. They don't really receive at all, but they rely on their ability to project confusion and dread to protect themselves from contact. They're xenophobic, hide behind cloaks and only occasionally do they drop them -- only to take in supplies or effect repairs. Or when there is a malfunction."

"Wait, how do you know this?" Matteo exclaimed. 

"I'm Betazoid," Deanna said, not caring to debate the particulars. "Those aliens have no spoken language. The others, the first ones we encountered, are scavengers. They are fleeing from other species through your space, General." She turned to look at Kardan. "They have no interest in conquering -- they scavenge parts and materials wherever they can."

"I have a team analyzing some of the wreckage we beamed aboard," Ward Carlisle said. That said that she had been caught up in whatever state she'd been in longer than Jean-Luc had described. "We know that they use polaron-based weapons. I'm hoping we picked up something that will give us some insight into these people."

Deanna took another slow breath, as she unraveled more of what the Cenophytes had given her. The telepathic aliens from the Beta Quadrant that the Federation took in recently had a habit of planting information in her mind that slowly revealed itself, so she wasn't overwhelmed. "The Tophe," she put in. "The attackers are the Tophe. They don't experience emotions that I can sense."

Jean-Luc gazed at her with troubled eyes. He knew something more was going on than she was saying. "What else can you tell us about them?"

She was aware that the general was struggling with impatience, almost ready to demand that they pursue the aliens. She could tell that once again Matteo was staring, and while she didn't understand his disbelief it set her on edge to sense him feeling it. The rest of the senior staff were waiting to hear what she had to say. "They left their world behind to come here to obtain new technology to save their people. They're desperate. On the verge of extinction."

The general growled. When she turned her head to look at him, she found him glaring. "You cannot sense them but you know this?"

"The other aliens know them. The Tophe have been pursuing them as well." No need to say that the 'other aliens' were the Cenophytes, who had given her the information, and not the unknown aliens that the Tophe had been fighting.

"We should follow these 'Tophe' and make it clear to them they cannot invade the Empire, or the Federation," Kardan pronounced with the undertone of aggression that was more typical of Klingons. 

"It is unacceptable to attack Klingon vessels," Jean-Luc agreed. "Our attempts to communicate with them have been unsuccessful. They evade and cloak. What do you suggest, General?"

It put the general in an awkward spot. If he wanted to continue to support the alliance with the Federation, chasing the aliens and destroying them wasn't on the table. And because the Klingons had not been able to defeat the cloaking devices that hadn't been possible anyway. "Are there options other than continue to unsuccessfully engage with them?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "There may not be obvious ones, but I have to believe we can find a way to communicate. Do you have any suggestions, Number One?" That was a shock to Deanna as well as to him -- she sensed the jolt it caused him, appreciated the attempt but understood why he hadn't been using the nickname. Something in him rebelled against it.

The question was the sort that he normally asked of all the senior staff, but she spoke more languages than the others and had been at his side through nearly all his diplomatic efforts and first contacts over the past decade. It made sense to limit responses. Deanna thought about their discussion earlier, about the Vulcans making first contact with the Klingons. "They are looking for technology to save their species. Perhaps we should offer them something that will help their cause."

"Ah," the general blurted. 

"But the way they ignore attempts to hail them?" Counselor Davidson pointed out. "They don't see that as an option."

"It's easy to see how a species in a part of space where they have no allies and no resources might mistrust anyone offering them help. Is the offer a tactic to draw them in, or a true offer? I would suppose that this has been done to them before." Deanna caught herself plexing, and dropped her hand from the back of her neck. "We could give them a shuttle. Let them scan it and detect that it doesn't pose a risk. The gesture might communicate the intent."

"Or," Geordi said, his tone wary, "we could sit in open space with no shields, and wait. Signal that we want peace by making the first move. We've been running at red and yellow alert most of the time we've been here."

"Broadcasting the message? Who's to say they don't have a translator themselves?" Ward Carlisle asked.

Jean-Luc sighed; it was barely audible. Deanna waited with the rest of them while he thought about their suggestions, doing a little thinking herself. 

"Or focus on the other species," she said at last. "The Tophe observing that the xenophobes are willing to trust us might make the statement we wish them to understand."

"Do you sense any of them?" Jean-Luc asked. "At this moment, I mean."

She sat up a little straighter and refocused; at a distance it took a little effort, to sweep for the sensations she recognized as life forms. When she brushed the consciousness of the telepaths for which she had no name, they immediately projected fear. The Tophe were less obvious to her. "Yes. Not close, however."

"Mr. Carlisle, collaborate with Mr. LaForge in analyzing the wreckage we beamed aboard, and report when you have any useful information. Mr. deLio will continue long range scans and the commander will update as she senses changes -- in the absence of sensor data even a weak and indistinct impression is better than no information at all. Counselor, if you would review the database for any similar situations and the outcomes? Dismissed." As everyone began to stand up, Jean-Luc cleared his throat lightly. "Mr. Matteo, stay seated."

Deanna glanced at him. He indicated with a flick of the eyes at the door that he wanted her to go, so she turned to the general. "If you wish we can contact your commanders," she said, rising to her feet. 

Kardan hum-hummed as they left the observation lounge. "Could I trouble you for something to drink?"

"Of course. We'll use the ready room."

He followed her across the bridge and inside, then waited while she visited the replicator alcove. When she handed him another glass of the tea he'd enjoyed earlier, he met her eyes and they stood for a minute looking at each other.

"Starfleet protocols are slow," he said.

"Sometimes that's necessary. There are still too many questions to answer." She turned back to get something for herself. Her stomach was starting to act up again. 

"How big is their fleet? How many ships? Are there more coming? Those would be good questions to answer," Kardan said, waving his glass in the air.

"They would. But I do not have a way of telling you those answers using empathy and the cloaking devices they use prevent other means, so until we either find a way around the cloak or a way to communicate with them -- "

"We should do all of it," Kardan said. "Try to tell them. Drop the shields. We can cloak the birds of prey and wait. We should _do something_."

"We likely will do those things. I will also do my best to come up with something else. The analysis of the wreckage we picked up may be illuminating." She nibbled on the piece of bread -- a slice of nutty, whole grain blandness that would not upset her stomach further. Kardan eyed the dark brown slab as she took a bite.

"_You_ are pregnant," he announced boldly.

Deanna was, for once, caught off guard. She blinked up at the Klingon.

"My wife ate strange things for _months_ \-- I feared our child would be odd, after her mother ate so many unusual things."

Deanna smiled at the unexpected commonality. "How old is your daughter?"

"Old enough to command the _Kang_," he exclaimed proudly. "She acquitted herself very well during the war."

Before they could talk more in that vein, the door opened to admit Jean-Luc. She could have guessed from the look on his face how the conversation with Matteo had gone, even if she couldn't sense his frustration. He smiled though, as the general turned a big grin on him. "General?"

"We were discussing my daughter," he replied. 

"Ah. My presence has been requested in cargo bay two, as apparently there is something to look at. Would you care to join us?"

Deanna took her slice of bread with her. Kardan left his half-full glass on a table on the way out. Cargo bay two was full of larger cargo containers and a large cargo transporter that Geordi had used to retrieve the debris. In the space nearest the door, Geordi and Ward plus two young men from ops stood looking down at a scattered grouping of twisted metal. And one body. Deanna swallowed the mouthful of bread she was trying to chew at the sight of it.

"It's not exactly humanoid," Geordi said, waving at the black -- or was it blackened? -- creature. "We thought you might want to see it before we beam it up to sickbay for a thorough examination."

"Fascinating," Jean-Luc said, leaning in then bending his knees to get closer to examine it.

Deanna went around the general to approach the creature from the opposite direction, then dropped to one knee. She held her snack in her left hand and reached slowly with the right, hesitant though it was a certainty that it was dead. That it had been beamed in from space usually guaranteed it. Nor did she sense anything from it. 

Until her fingertips were in contact with the leathery black skin. It was cool to the touch, and she sensed echoes. It didn't always happen, but sometimes, she could pick up traces from recently-deceased bodies. As she ran her fingers down the thin arm -- one of four, with long-fingered hands -- a flash of anger and despair flooded her. She yelped in shock. The bread flew from her fingers to the floor of the shuttle bay as she fell backward to sprawl on the deck plating.

Blinking, she saw that the six men were staring at her. "Commander?" Jean-Luc said at last. 

She rolled and got to her feet, circled right, and knelt again to get a closer look at the head. It resembled a cat, though earless and whiskerless. Large round eyes without pupils gleamed steely gray and the mouth was lipless. It appeared to have died of a broken neck; the angle looked unnatural.

"The Tophe are telepathic," she said. "But it's different. The telepathy feels...." Standard was so, so inadequate when it came to this. She also felt inadequate, "just an empath" as her mother often said. Resolutely setting that old resentment aside, she refocused on the empty eyes, and reached to touch the side of its head. 

More emotion, from the mind that was so recently alive, but slowly losing what had been an intelligent being. She thought about the Cenophytes again, trying to solicit their aid in understanding more, but they were unresponsive. Either they didn't maintain constant vigilance or they had nothing to offer her.

"Cold, angry, resolute. Determination. This mind was precise and sharp. Extremely controlled. Not at all what Betazoids are. Not like Vulcans, who are reserved and formal but not hard and cold. This feels to me like a species that has had to survive constant danger for so long they have no respite and no empathy."

"Very unlikely to respond to a friendly overture," Jean-Luc observed. 

Deanna stood up. Her stomach did a few more flips; the brief exposure to the intense emotional remnants of the being in front of her made her hope she would not meet one in person. "I think we will have better success obtaining a treaty with the Romulans."

Kardan huffed indignantly at it, then chuckled. "Just another way of stating it's impossible."

"No, not entirely -- but improbable at the moment, and difficult to do," Jean-Luc said. "Anything else that you observe, Commander?"

"There may be enough time left to revive it. If I can pick up emotion, there is some minimal brain activity left."

Geordi was in motion at once, running for the console in the control room, and the alien dematerialized on its way to sickbay. As he returned Deanna glanced around at the pieces of the alien vessel. "Are these all from the same ship, or are there fragments of both kinds of ship?"

"There are several pieces of one of the other ships, made from different alloys," Cornwell said. He looked at her with his bright yellow eyes; he too was a human hybrid, but it escaped Deanna's recall as to what kind. "We have a theory that the cloaking that the other species is using has to do with a substance they've impregnated in the hull. When they charge the hull it activates the compound. So there is no particle residue to associate with their vessels."

"An in-depth analysis may tell us what kind of energy they use," Geordi said. He paused. "Deanna, are you all right?"

It forced her to pay attention to herself, and then realize how very tired she felt, all of a sudden, and a headache had begun behind her forehead. "I'm tired, but I'm fine. I think I'll go to sickbay. I'll contact you if the doctor is successful."

She could feel Jean-Luc's attention on her. He likely suspected she was minimizing how she felt, and his concern almost pulled him along after her, but he remained. Her destination was likely the only reason he didn't go with her.

It was, she decided, a good thing that so many of what she did was by rote -- years of riding around the ship in lifts meant that she could go through the motions in a daze, which is exactly how she ended up at the door to sickbay without memory of telling the turbolift where she was wanting to go. She could sense the agitation of sickbay staff before she went inside; the scene was not what she expected. Mengis and three of his staff were across the room from the biobed farthest to starboard, tending to each other, and the force field was in place around the bed. Obviously the alien had attacked them, once revived. The alien was shrieking and wailing in distress, running around inside the force field and occasionally hitting it bodily. The sparkling effect as it bounced back made the field visible briefly each time. Four security officers, including deLio, stood by watching, phasers drawn.

"Commander," Mengis exclaimed. He came to her and tried to impel her to a bed with a hand on her arm.

"I know. But a moment -- it will hurt itself," she said, watching it run into the base of the biobed. Deanna moved to the periphery of the force field and dropped to her knees. She didn't know what to do other than resort to body language. The alien in front of her didn't even register to her as a life form -- she guessed that it meant the Tophe could shield themselves completely, unlike the other species that relied upon projection as a defense. In its panic the creature was completely shut off from others.

Bowing her head, she closed her eyes, slowly raised her arms, and spread her hands open, fingers apart. Hoping that body language would lead to real communication. She listened to the alien's feet scuffing the carpet rapidly, the sizzle of its body against the field, and then silence.

She felt it, when the Tophe opened itself. It was so afraid. She gasped out loud and caught herself, before she could be overwhelmed by it. It helped that she could feel Jean-Luc in the background -- his concern led to focus, through the bond, which led to a stronger connection than they had from day to day when things were routine.

_We won't hurt you. We want to help. Please be calm._

The fear was gone. The presence of the alien replaced it -- it was as instantaneous as telepathy could be, and this was a stronger telepath than she'd encountered before, save the Cenophytes. She opened her eyes to find the Tophe sitting on the other side of the force field in front of her, the pupil-less eyes meeting hers and two of the four skinny arms held up, palms out, four thin fingers splayed, mimicking her.

She dropped her arms and stood up, and the alien followed her example. "Doctor," Deanna exclaimed, suddenly light-headed. Mengis was there, catching her as she swayed.

"Come on."

"Z won't hurt anyone now," she said. "She understands." Z wasn't a name, nor was it precisely female, but the limitations of Standard and the undesired nuance of calling the alien an "it" were problematic.

"Good. Does she understand that we need to help you?"

Deanna nodded, sitting on the closest biobed. "Call the captain. Tell him everything will work out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bangwI’vaD jImatlhchu’ ‘ej jIHvaD matlhchu’ bangwI’ = I am completely loyal to my beloved and my beloved is completely loyal to me.
> 
> Je suis mon bien-aimé et mon bien-aimé est à moi - I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.
> 
> From the Song of Solomon.


	5. Chapter 5

It took some wrangling to get everyone off to one of the briefing rooms on deck two, so he could pause for a visit, but Jean-Luc re-entered sickbay and shot the doctor a look. Mengis turned to head for his office. Jean-Luc was officially checking on his first officer, to bring her to the briefing if possible along with the alien. He might have been able to do that with a call, but he also wanted to see his wife.

The alien stood on the floor at the foot of the biobed, unmoving. The Tophe was all of four feet tall, thin as a rail, the black skin showing a tiny ribcage and all the contours of wiry musculature. Its torso leaned forward slightly, accommodating two sets of shoulders. Mengis had said that after the force field was dropped, it had gone to stand near Deanna's biobed and shuffled out of the way for them but not done anything else. Apparently it had a way of sensing sound, but no spoken language. That explained the complete lack of interest in talking to anyone, at least.

Deanna's eyes opened as he stopped at the head of the bed. "Hi."

That was unusual in itself. She'd been an officer through and through, all day, formal and upright. She had wilted in the cargo bay before their eyes, however, and here in sickbay her demeanor had softened. And now that her eyes were open, he could tell that she was different -- she must be caught up in communing with the Tophe. The glassy look was similar to how her eyes had seemed when they were trying to understand the Cenophytes. He touched her hair before he thought about what he was doing, ran his fingertips down her cheek, and it was enough. She blinked. Sat up, and he moved forward for an embrace.

Body contact brought up _hajira _at once. He indulged in it, finding that he needed the reassurance that it was still there, and this wasn't having a deleterious effect on her after all. He pulled away after a few moments and looked her in the eye again. She was herself again.

"We're meeting on deck two and I'm afraid we need you to tell us what's going on," he said.

"No. Z can communicate with all of you, if she has permission she's happy to," Deanna said, lowering herself to the bed again. She was exhausted. She continued to hold his hand, though. "I'm fine, and the baby is fine. Dr. Mengis wants me to stay."

"I have to question whether we should -- telepaths can lie, and I would suppose it's possible for them to easily manipulate the beliefs of non-telepaths."

Deanna sighed heavily. "The other species, the unnamed ones projecting fear, have been doing so for a while now. Everyone aboard has been influenced subtly by them. If Z wanted to deceive others, if the Tophe were able to manipulate that way, there would be no battles. Everyone would be their friend and they would have evacuated their world by now. They would not be attempting to take what they needed from others."

"You're suggesting that I can trust the Tophe." He could tell she was correct, now that she said it -- on the one hand, he wanted to be as objective as always. On the other, he indulged in self-examination and recognized his own level of tension was higher than usual. Especially as the possibility of further violence with the Tophe had vanished, now that Deanna had established meaningful communications -- he disliked violence. Difficult negotiations weren't nearly as tense, for him, not after years of diplomacy.

"Z told me that they have never met a species that was not aggressive toward them," Deanna said. "They don't think in terms of trust or mistrust. They can tell when another species is trying to manipulate or attack, and they avoid them."

"The Klingons wanted to attack but didn't, according to Kardan. So therefore they avoided the Klingons?"

"All species can have blind spots. I don't know that the Tophe would distinguish between thought and action that way. Not having spoken language to discuss the difference between wanting something and choosing not to go through with the action makes that difficult." She sighed, made a frustrated face, and closed her eyes for a minute. "You're right. I need to be there. I see there's still a need for translation, despite Z's ability to simply read and project thoughts."

"I'll get Greg." 

The doctor was at his desk, doing something on the monitor -- he looked up as Jean-Luc entered, his usual indecipherable bland expression in place. "Captain?"

"I'd like to take her to the briefing. Do you object?" 

"It wouldn't be best for her, but I can understand given the circumstance why she needs to be present. I can give her a stimulant and some nutrients to offset additional stress." He rose from the chair. "Computer, save draft." 

Jean-Luc followed the doctor back out to main sickbay and watched him administer the hypospray. Mengis was head and shoulders taller than Jean-Luc, rarely smiled, never joked on duty -- and sometimes he did not attend senior staff meetings. It was a given, Jean-Luc thought, that it wouldn't be the same as before; having officers who were close friends was not always the outcome in Starfleet. But Mengis had showed no inclination to thaw out thus far. Kept to himself, attended only official mission-related functions. Not that Jean-Luc felt inclined to invite him for dinner....

Deanna sat up again and reached up to gather her hair, which was loose around her face. The stimulant had done its work. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I will attend the meeting with you, with another hypospray." Mengis looked down at the alien still standing and apparently waiting. "Your friend is being very well-behaved now."

"Z regrets that there was violence. They do not engage in violence out of anger or malice, merely as a means to an end or in defense. She was confused and frightened in sickbay, believing she was a captive." She gestured at the alien, and it fell in step beside her as she headed for the door.

The four of them rode the turbolift in silence, and entered the briefing room; the cacophony of discussions ended abruptly, and those gathered around the room in small clusters arranged themselves around the table. Kardan had brought over Lokar and Koroth, and brought in Alexander and L'Ran, the other officer he had kept aboard. Jean-Luc went to the head of the table, and Deanna must have told the alien to take the chair to his right. It stood on the chair instead of sitting, which was better as it was too short to see over the edge of the table from a seated position. Deanna sat down with the alien between them. Kardan and his officers took up the rest of the chairs on that side, their backs to the windows, and the senior staff of the _Enterprise_ settled across from them, all eyes on the alien.

"Since our guest is unable to speak for itself, Commander Troi will relay information as needed. If you have questions ask them," Jean-Luc said without preamble. He'd introduced everyone around prior to leaving for sickbay. The Klingons were gazing at him, rather than the alien. L'Ran had a subtle but visible sneer, sitting there with a stiff spine. Hopefully the Klingons would see the importance of this.

"This is one of the Tophe," Deanna said, indicated the alien. "She is not named, as the Tophe do not have spoken language and communicate entirely via telepathy. For convenience she has agreed that I will call her Z. They are extremely pragmatic people with a perspective I could best describe as blunt, straight-edged and unwavering. They are not the most powerful of the species in their sector. Evidently, more than a decade ago, a very aggressive species invaded the worlds in that sector, and have been exterminating many of the civilizations there. The Tophe have sent many fleets out to accumulate better technology in an attempt to mount a more effective defense. Their repeated efforts to defend themselves have resulted in more aggressive responses and so the cycle continues. This fleet we have encountered is approximately five hundred vessels. The other species we have seen are so xenophobic that they destroy their own vessels rather than allow them to be captured, and so the Tophe typically do not engage with them, but they too are attempting to pirate better technology for the same reasons, so they are competing for the resources."

Deanna sounded normal, but Jean-Luc watched her carefully. No doubt the doctor had sat opposite her for the same reason. "I spoke to Admiral Nechayev while you were in sickbay. She requested more information, of course. But you know how limited our resources are. Unless the Tophe were willing to leave their world and emigrate, there are not many solutions we can offer them."

"Z understands that. The Tophe fleet traveled for the equivalent of six months to get here, at warp two," Deanna said. "They've sent scavenged technology home several times. It isn't that they need materials, or fleets -- they can build ships. They have colonies on several worlds but their homeworld is in jeopardy. They can't keep up with the demand for warships. So finding a technological advantage is the goal."

"To the point, Commander," Kardan said, with a note of impatience. "Will they depart, now that we have established communication? Stop attacking our ships?"

"The Prime Directive doesn't apply," Geordi said. "We could give them some weapon designs. Older ones."

Jean-Luc held up a hand. "I already discussed that with the admiral. Commander, have you discussed the matter of peace?"

Deanna paused -- perhaps doing so in the moment. "They don't see war and peace in the same terms we do. They have no grudge against any of us." She turned her head to look at Kardan, and now, Jean-Luc was glad that he had endured his misgivings while watching her befriend the elder Klingon. She gave Kardan a subdued smile, and the general's subtle response, a nod and a warm look in the eyes, was encouraging. "The Tophe fleet intends to continue onward but Z can agree that the Klingon ships will no longer be of interest to them."

"Moving into the Federation would be problematic for them, and us," Carlisle put in. His anxiety was obvious.

"They are not turning for home until they have completed their mission. The fleet sends ten ships back with new technology. They will continue to do so until there is no fleet left. The fleet that they left at home is locked in a cycle of upgrading itself, attempting to fend off more aggressive species."

"So are they escalating while other species are also upgrading their technology? Is it a war of evolution?" Geordi asked. "Neither side can exterminate the other but they continue to try?"

"Do they understand boundaries?"

Deanna gazed at Dr. Mengis with a cool expression, which lead Jean-Luc to wonder what was between her and the doctor. Not for the first time. "The sector they are in has been in dispute for hundreds of years. Other species assert boundaries. The Z have a single system and multiple colonies in the immediate vicinity. They've lost colonies to several other species. They try to establish themselves in places unclaimed by others, rather than encroach upon anyone, "

The alien snuffled, rubbing a hand over its face as if itchy. Jean-Luc wondered if it needed different environmental conditions. The round gray eyes had no expressive qualities, but he was suddenly confident that the alien felt fine. That must be the telepath at work. It wasn't as oppressive and overpowering as the Cenophytes. The thought was just -- there.

The introspection, which distracted him from another question being asked by Geordie, was interrupted by a fist pounded on the table. Everyone flinched. L'Ran shouted a word in Klingon, and rose from the table.

Kardan ponderously followed suit and gazed over the heads of Lokar and Koloth, who sat between them. It was a predictable outcome. Jean-Luc added a steady look of warning to the general's. "If you would like to continue working with the Federation, as Martok ordered, please have a seat. If you need anything do speak up. We have a replicator." He gestured to his right, at the slot in the corner.

L'Ran grumbled something unintelligible and sat down. Kardan glared at L'Ran a moment longer, then sat with a thump in his own chair.

"I have informed Z that it's unlikely their fleet will go very far without meeting a strong military response," Deanna said. "Imagine your world being in a similar situation. For that matter, remember the Dominion War, and the Changeling who was your chancellor. There are species in the Beta Quadrant that can deceive and manipulate perception. So far, there are more telepathic species there than we've found anywhere else. Telepaths who evolve specifically out of self defense -- competing with each other and maneuvering for dominance with the rest, fighting to survive. The Tophe are not blessed with the opportunity to learn to trust anyone. The only reason Z is cooperative at this time is that I have given Z no reason to do anything else. They do exactly what is necessary, nothing more. If we wanted a treaty they would not see the point."

One of the Klingons made a guttural noise in his throat. Then Lokar spoke. "It sounds like a miserable experience. I hear nothing about them that suggests they know what brotherhood or victory are."

Deanna looked at Jean-Luc with warning in her eyes. She glanced at the alien, which looked at her and scratched its head again. Nonchalant. Hard to believe that it had injured three people in sickbay within seconds of being revived. "You are correct, Commander Lokar. They do not know what brotherhood is. Their experience, their history, in the Beta Quadrant -- like so many species apparently do, in that region, they lack the ability to truly develop the more fulfilling relationships that can happen between people. Energy is spent on survival rather than wasting it on society."

"The Dominion War was not the end," Kardan said. "It was the first chapter. That is what you are saying."

Jean-Luc paused, glancing around at faces to gauge reactions. "I understand the assumption, General. But I also hope that the current situation is proving that making assumptions is not wise. The Tophe are not allies, but they are also not enemies. And those who are not allies may potentially become them -- it was often said that the Empire and the Federation would never be allies. Refugees from the Beta Quadrant are either fleeing from forces greater than their own, or simply escaping what has apparently become escalating war between other species. The situation on your borders should be -- "

"We should defend our borders," L'Ran put forth loudly, blustering, his head high. "WE are Klingons. Who THEY are does not matter!"

The general was looking at Deanna, as he responded with the lazy arrogance that a high-ranking Klingon could use with confidence. "Do you wish to die, along with your brothers, your children, and the rest of the Empire?"

"Brute strength is not the most important asset in a fight," Lokar said. "We need to know what the Federation is doing! We need to know more about these new invaders. We need information, do you think you could have done as they have, reviving this creature and obtaining that information!" She waved an arm in the general direction of the Tophe sitting two chairs away, nearly thumping Kardan on the head.

"I want to defend the Empire! Not sit around waiting for another attack!" L'Ran waved at the Starfleet officers opposite. Jean-Luc noticed none of them flinched, save Matteo, seated at the end of the table. The ensign wasn't impressing Jean-Luc thus far. 

"_Enough_." Kardan slapped a hand on the table with a solid thump. He turned his head to glare at the _Rotarran_'s third officer. "You are dismissed. You will wait in your quarters."

L'Ran spat something in Klingon and leaped to his feet. He threw the chair backward as he turned, stalked around the end of the table and went out the door.

"My apologies to you, Captain, for my former officer's behavior," Kardan exclaimed, back to the genial Klingon officer he had been.

Jean-Luc glanced around the room again. His officers were all watching him with serious expressions. They understood. Lokar and Koloth were calm, the former actually smirking -- no love for L'Ran there. Alexander was smiling at Jean-Luc.

The Tophe had two hands over its head, hiding its eyes. Deanna watched it warily. 

"Commander?"

"She's afraid. Apparently the Tophe are very sensitive to anger," Deanna said. "They shield themselves completely when afraid. A defense against other telepaths, no doubt."

"Are we going to return Z to her people?" Mengis asked. His green eyes held sharp reproach. Perhaps for Deanna as much as for his alien patient?

"She wishes to do so, yes. But she is willing to stay with us to explain."

"Can she tell us anything more about the other species, the ones not yet named who are also here in the Empire?" Lokar asked. 

Then, perhaps emboldened after L'Ran's exit, Alexander spoke up. "Maybe Z has an idea about what to do to mark the borders of the Empire so more species don't show up and wander into our space? Or if there are more species on the way?"

"There are," Deanna said, turning to look at the Klingons. "Unfortunately."

"Then maybe we should offer the Tophe a place to live, and they can help us defend the borders," Alexander said. "They have plenty of warships and there are uninhabited systems on that side of the Empire. We could work out a way of communicating with them without telepathy."

Jean-Luc raised both eyebrows, but waited to see what the others would make of it. Deanna had turned her head away from the general to conceal her amusement. Kardan had a longsuffering expression; he harrumphed and shot a look at Lokar. 

Well, it may be a simplistic sort of idea, Jean-Luc thought, but he wondered if that weren't what was needed.

"That has some merit -- the Tophe may not want a treaty, but they might be willing to relocate if the system offered were out of the war zone they are apparently living in now." 

Deanna was still amused, but the Klingons were surprised. Alexander had clearly never been taken seriously during his time serving in the Klingon fleet; he blinked and seemed stunned. Kardan hum-hummed and seemed to be taking it more seriously, now that the idea had an endorsement from someone other than Alexander. 

"Z would like to consider it with her people," Deanna said. "She would like more information about what is being offered."

The general blinked his single eye and gave a single nod. "No possibility should be discarded without consideration. I should contact Martok and give him an update, as well."

"We can reconvene tomorrow," Jean-Luc said. "It's well past time for our evening meal. I also need to speak to the admiral, to give her an update. Commander, will Z return to her vessel now, or is she willing to stay aboard?"

Deanna paused, turning to look at the alien. Z had calmed herself and looked around, focusing on Jean-Luc. He had a sensation of satisfaction, followed by awareness that Z wanted to leave the _Enterprise_ but would be in contact with Deanna if needed, as the Tophe vessels were now around them and remaining cloaked. 

"Mr. deLio will take Z to transporter room one," Deanna said. "She will give the chief coordinates."

"You are all dismissed," Jean-Luc said to the senior staff. "General, will your commanders be staying aboard? We can have the quartermaster issue them quarters."

"I will return to my ship," Koloth said at once. Lokar didn't speak up but she stood up with him, nodded to her father, and tromped from the room.

"Can I come see you tomorrow?" Alexander asked, obviously speaking to Deanna by the way he smiled at her.

"I'll let you know -- hopefully we can spare the time. But you know how it goes," she replied. He nodded and left the room.

Counselor Davidson, Geordi, the wide-eyed Ensign Matteo and Ward Carlisle all left as well, one after the next. deLio came around the table to lead the silent Z to the transporter room. Once the door shut for the final time, Mengis stood up. "Commander," he intoned.

"Yes, as soon as I can," Deanna said. The doctor stalked out. She turned to Jean-Luc. "He made me promise I would have an early bedtime."

"Then the general will hopefully forgive us for postponing the dinner," he replied.

Kardan humphed and reached over to pat her shoulder. "I will indeed -- our female warriors are not expected to risk their children in battle at any stage of pregnancy. You've been many things, today. Warrior as well as peacemaker. You have earned your rest. I will see you tomorrow." He hauled himself up from the chair, shuffled around the table, and hummed again as he left the briefing room.

Jean-Luc sat for a few minutes, thinking through the day's events. Deanna waited with closed eyes.

"I think that we need a new helmsman," he said at last.

She opened her eyes. "Is that your priority?"

"It was the simplest solution for the simplest problem. Matteo is too green. He did well on beta shift but we need someone who doesn't flinch as much. He should go back to beta. Who would you suggest for a replacement?"

"Let me think about it in the morning. I'm too tired."

Jean-Luc rose then, and she followed his example. It was obvious that Mengis was concerned, and so keeping her on duty was not a good idea. "How do you feel this is going?"

"The Tophe won't be a problem for us. The Klingons may have different results," she said. "We shall see."

"I had wondered whether the push for Federation membership was too soon," Jean-Luc murmured, heading for the door. Worf and Martok were the leading proponents of the idea. 

"L'Ran's attitude is typical of members of most of the Houses. It's going to be difficult to convince them," Deanna replied. If the rest of the Houses were opposed it had little chance in succeeding. 

"Enough. We'll discuss this over breakfast." Hopefully there would be no red alerts. He intended to put her to bed, contact the admiral for a short update, and get some sleep himself.


	6. Chapter 6

She opened her eyes, to find the lights at half and the bedroom quiet. Deanna lay on her right side, her arms crossed loosely against her chest, the covers drawn up to her chin -- she was warm and comfortable, and it was tempting to not move. Jean-Luc was awake and she could sense the familiar emotional mutterings of his mind at work. It was one of those missions. He'd been working the details over and over in his mind.

She was concerned though that he had been less directive than usual. It didn't seem as though she was being evaluated, but he had been unusually circumspect. When she rolled on her back, she realized he'd already gotten up. As she swung her legs out of bed the door opened and he came into the bedroom, fully dressed in uniform and carrying a cup of coffee. Probably decaffeinated and less sweet than she liked.

"Good morning," he said with more exuberance than she'd expected. He put the cup on her night stand.

"You got up early. Is everything all right?"

He grimaced and gave her a sheepish shrug. "I got up on time and let you sleep in."

"What?" She was on her feet and moving, not pausing for her coffee. Her hair was a mess and she needed a fresh uniform. She'd worn one of his shirts to bed.

"We're idling along the Klingon-Romulan Neutral Zone with two Birds of Prey and a fleet of Tophe all around us. From the tetryon emissions we're picking up, your friend wasn't lying about the size of that fleet. There's been no sign of the xenophobes, which makes perfect sense. We can take our time."

"Then I'll have time to have a chat with you about not sabotaging me. Computer, time." Deanna sat down in front of her mirror at the dressing table, picking up her hairbrush.

_The time is eight hundred forty-two_.

Jean-Luc crossed the room slowly to stand behind her as she started brushing her hair. "I didn't sabotage anything. You'll notice I'm still here as well."

Deanna ran the brush through her curls slowly, not even looking in the mirror. Thinking about the day before and wondering what she could have done differently.

"Cygne."

Tears started -- she blinked them away, shaking herself out of the mood as best she could. He hadn't called her that in more than a day. She found that she'd missed hearing it.

"I'm not sure if it's stress, or hormones, or these aliens that you tell us are projecting fear -- perhaps it's some combination of all of those. But you don't seem well this morning."

Dropping the brush in front of the mirror, she stood up and pivoted, intending to face him and reassure him that she was fine. But he gazed into her eyes with such affectionate concern that she couldn't speak. So she raised her arms and stepped into his, clinging to his neck. He held her for a time, letting her lean against his chest. He was warm and smelled faintly of bergamot, as he often did. It meant he'd been up long enough to have tea. She gradually relaxed her rigid hold on herself and his arms tightened as _hajira_ rose between them.

She stepped back finally, looking at his face. The face of her husband -- love in his eyes, a happy smile, none of the tension from yesterday. "Thank you."

"You fell asleep before I got back from the bathroom last night. I didn't have a chance to ask how you were doing."

They had talked about details of the mission all the way from the briefing, and she'd sat down to remove her boots while he went in the bathroom. She didn't remember anything else. He must have helped her undress. "Very tired, and stressed, last night. But the doctor said I'm doing well."

"We'll go to the bridge after breakfast. I want to have you in the room when I speak to the fleet admiral in case she has specific questions for you. Then I'll go meet with the general."

"I'll get a robe."

But she leaned and kissed his cheek, lingering to enjoy contact with him. She had known it would be different, but she hadn't known how she would feel doing it. It took real effort to hold herself apart from him emotionally all day, to be focused and avoid bothering him with her moments of awkwardness and anxiety. She still had to prove to herself that she could manage the crew. She knew there would be an adjustment period for all of them as well as for her. She knew she could be an officer, and more and more she could see herself in the role of first officer. But there were a lot of unknowns, still.

Matteo had to be reassigned, to something other than the bridge. She didn't like that one of her first acts as first officer would be reassigning him. She had known him as a client, knew what he was like, had given him a chance to make the adjustment, but they couldn't afford to have an officer at the helm who constantly reacted as he'd been.

She put on a fluffy robe and joined Jean-Luc on the couch, for more tea and a light breakfast. She nibbled a dry croissant, afraid after yesterday's on and off nausea to eat anything more. 

"You've done a good job with Kardan," he said, picking up a croissant and reaching for the berry jam. "He almost seems amiable -- hardly a word I thought I would ever use, to describe a Klingon."

"They lost too many ships in the war. Worf said there are many high-ranking officers who are reacting with desperation and anger. No Klingon accepts that they can't fight without a fight," she said. "I think they'll need to change their policies toward other species."

"Given their adversarial natures and glorification of battle, it was a given that moving beyond aggression with other species would be difficult for them."

Deanna nodded sadly. "It's likely they will be engaged in another civil war before Federation membership happens. It will split the High Council if an attempt is made without consensus."

"Martok has been pushing for it, so you're likely correct." Jean-Luc picked up his croissant for a bite, dropped it on the plate, and reached for his mug. "What did you think of Alexander's suggestion?"

"He's such a good-natured young man. I know he means well, but I'm not sure he appreciates the complexities of the situation." Deanna smiled as she thought of the boy she'd known, and suddenly had to fight tears. It had to be hormones. She'd believed she was past feeling sad about Worf's departure with his son. 

"You were very fond of him, when he was aboard," Jean-Luc said. His tone was sympathetic. "But I wonder if it was more than that. If you thought you might be his stepmother?"

It was the first time he'd even hinted at her relationship with Worf, ever. Deanna sighed heavily at the memories of that time. "He knew that was a possibility. He was so angry when it didn't happen. So hurt."

"We should make some time for him today, somehow."

"I hope that's possible. I want to talk to him about it." She started to eat with more determination. 

"What would help you?"

That surprised her. He'd been feeling concern, and she sensed it, but she hadn't thought he noticed her struggling to eat. Or maybe he meant help her with the transition to first officer? "Help me?

"You haven't felt well. This morning was the happiest I've seen you in a while."

She giggled. "Because I love my husband?"

He rolled his eyes sheepishly. "I suppose it was difficult yesterday, not seeing your husband all day?"

"The captain isn't so bad, really," she said with a sly grin.

"Such wonderful madness," he murmured, holding his tea up to her as if toasting the occasion.

"I am reconsidering the decision to keep the bond at bay while I'm on duty."

"Ah. So Counselor Troi was correct, that everyone needs somebody, sometime," he said with a lofty air and a head tilt.

"Silly fish," she chided softly. He was smug and teasing her, good signs -- at least so far as she was concerned. "Yes, I do need you."

He set aside his cup and put an arm around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder while eating. She even took the opportunity to close her eyes for a while and rest. He was humming the song, By the Light of the Moon, that she'd learned while they were in France on leave.

The annunciator was a shock -- he flinched, and she leaped up from the couch. "I should get dressed," she said, hurrying for the bedroom.

When she returned in uniform, her hair neatly rolled against the back of her head, she had a smile ready for Alexander, who sat with Jean-Luc, a cup of coffee in hand. She caught a whiff of the raktajino he was drinking on the approach, and instead of going to sit between them as she'd intended, she sat on Jean-Luc's left, putting him between them.

"He was just telling me about his time on the _Rotarran_," Jean-Luc said.

"I spent some time on a different ship for a while but I came back to the _Rotarran_ when General Kardan took command. Martok recommended me to him. I'm afraid I'm not quite what he expected," Alexander said with an abashed expression.

"I hope your father is being more reasonable in his expectations, these days," Deanna said, thinking of all the times she'd had to mediate between them. She had wondered from time to time how Alexander was faring, after he left the Rozhenko's home on Earth and returned to the Empire.

"Father changed a lot, mostly because of Jadzia I think," he said. "But the rest of the Klingons are not so different. The general tries, he understands more about other ways to be -- but he pities me because I'm not as violent or capable with a weapon as the others. I'm doing better with practice, but it's difficult."

Deanna wanted to express concern, and knew it would be received with more grace than if she'd done it to Worf. But she gazed at him and thought about his attempt to be Klingon, and avoided sympathy. "Is being a warrior what you want to do?"

Alexander had been asked that question before, she thought. He smiled, but she could sense the irritation the topic engendered. "I don't know what else I would be. I spent some time on the home world and tried to be a cook. I talked to someone at the science academy but I've never been really good at math."

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna as he spoke. "You could join Starfleet."

Alexander's surprise was perhaps more about who suggested it, as Deanna knew Worf had done so before. "I don't know," he said, uncomfortable, likely not wanting to dismiss it entirely out of respect for Jean-Luc.

"I'm surprised you haven't thought of visiting my mother," Deanna said. "She still asks about you. And she could give you any job you wanted."

"She could?"

"Mother is a very good employer." Deanna ignored the disbelief and amusement from Jean-Luc, who hid his smirk by sipping tea. "She would probably pay you to be anything you wanted -- security for the Fifth House, or even a gardener."

"Can I call her? I'd like to talk to her," Alexander said. "I couldn't figure out how to get through from Klingon communications networks."

"Of course, she would love to hear from you. She's on Betazed helping with the restoration. And there are so many things to do, so much to rebuild, that there are jobs for anyone who wants to spend a few years on Betazed," Deanna said.

Alexander immediately looked sad and worried. "I heard that it was invaded during the war. I'm glad your mother wasn't killed."

Deanna looked down at her hands in her lap. It reminded her of the moment of panic she'd had, hearing about the invasion. She lingered too long in remembering, and she felt Jean-Luc's hand lightly touch her back. Raising her head, she sensed Alexander's dismay and smiled. "Don't worry, Alexander. I'm all right. It was a difficult time. So how long have you been serving with General Kardan? He seems to be an honorable man."

"I've been aboard for the past year. He's honest and strong, but I think he might be sad," Alexander said. He took a drink of his coffee and leaned forward to put it on the table in front of them.

"I wouldn't be surprised to find out half the Empire felt that way," Jean-Luc said. "Everyone lost someone in the war. And the Empire lost most of its fighting force."

Alexander grimaced -- he didn't look like the little boy he had been, but the expression was very familiar. He hadn't ever enjoyed the same things his father had, and Deanna remembered endless bickering between the two, about so many things. It was part of how she'd come around to ending the relationship with Worf. He'd started to bicker with her, and then to argue.

Shaking herself, she came back to the present. "Everyone lost most of their fighting force," she said.

Alexander now looked depressed himself, his eyes downcast. "The Cardassians lost most of their population. But all the Klingons see is that they can't defend themselves and it's somehow much more a crisis than some of the other issues, like the shortages in food."

Jean-Luc shot an alarmed look at Deanna. They hadn't heard about any shortages. But of course, asking for help was not the Klingon way. Jean-Luc didn't ask for further details, however. "It sounds as though the Empire needs people with expertise in sciences. Developing more effective agricultural methods to increase yields, for example."

"They should host a conference," Deanna said. "Like the one I attended shortly after the war. All the mental health professionals that could come, under one roof, talking about how to help thousands of people. Like the conference held on Rigel, for the agricultural sciences -- how to address the recovery of fields and crops ravaged by attacks on worlds that had thriving agrarian economies. I understand why there were no Klingons at the psychology conference, but I don't know whether there were any at the agricultural conference. There are ongoing efforts in the various sciences, collaborations between worlds that were less effected by the war to help those that were. The Klingon Empire could participate."

Jean-Luc's emotional response as she spoke suggested to her that he knew they had not. Deanna remembered meeting a Klingon scientist, long ago; if attitudes in the Empire were the same, she could understand why. Alexander had a grim expression that confirmed it.

"I don't think that's going to happen. I wish it was different, but there are a lot of Klingons who just don't value science, and they sort of drown out the ones that do. The High Council has always been full of them. Even Martok -- he likes the Federation all right, likes some of the officers in Starfleet in particular because he's fought beside them and learned how to understand them a little better. But he's still dismissive of suggestions from our scientists. I was with Father for a while after the war and one time Martok came by to drink with him. He mentioned that some scientist had approached him and bored him with talk about how much or how little this or that crop yield had been. Father pointed out that perhaps it was important, but Martok dismissed it. Grain feeds animals that feed us, though. I know a lot of the Klingon diet is meat, but all of it depends on plants. I don't think the High Council is focusing on much other than the problems of defending the Empire against these other species."

"In other words, they don't recognize the complexity of the system that supports that effort," Deanna summarized. "Or if they do, they aren't thinking past the crisis of the moment to remember how important it is."

"Being on the _Enterprise_ in the school taught me a lot about things they don't learn about in the Empire," Alexander said. He waved his hands up and out as if surrendering. "I've tried to talk to a few people about it, including Father. But they don't listen to me. I'm not anyone, despite being inducted into the House of Martok no one takes me seriously."

Deanna understood what he meant well enough. Not being taken seriously had been a prominent part of her life, until she'd gone to the university. "It's easier, when you are heard, even if your ideas are rejected. But to be unwavering in convictions, to be strong and stand firm, to them that is more important, because to be Klingon is to be strong and honorable."

"But surely that applies to any Klingon, from the Chancellor down to the fellow who sweeps the floors?" Jean-Luc said. "My impressions of the Klingons I've met hasn't been that they are not intelligent enough to recognize complexities."

Deanna's lips twitched into the slight smile she usually had when suppressing her amusement at something he said. "But you are intelligent, and when you are in a heightened state of anxiety or fear, you can be unable to think rationally. You know this, which is why you focus and remain calm as you can on missions. Klingons are not unlike humans in that respect. And much more likely to react with aggression, as well. Right now many people of many species are struggling with the awareness that we were nearly conquered by the Dominion."

"And there are some who have started to tell the High Council not to trust the Federation. That now we have no common enemy, we can't trust Starfleet." Alexander was stressed by this, obviously. "I wish there was something I could say to change their minds."

Deanna almost responded automatically with a reassurance, but it occurred to her there might actually be something that Alexander could do. He was uniquely positioned -- unlike other half Klingons, he was a member of a ruling house. "You know... if you want to stay aboard with us for a while, you're more than welcome. The _Rotarran _will no doubt require extended repairs. You did say you wanted help with the bat'leth. I have a class twice a week."

He grinned, liking that idea best of all. "I need to ask the general. I don't know if he'll let me, but I can ask."

"We should get to the bridge, we have some things to do today, but I'll come find you later," she said.

"Thanks. And thank you, Captain," he said, rising nervously to his feet. He hurried out.

Jean-Luc watched him go, and then wandered off in thought. Deanna took another sip of tea, put the cup on the table, and reached to take his hand where it rested on his thigh. He turned his head slightly, eyeing her, and she sensed his shift from pondering to wondering.

"What are you up to?"

"I want to help Alexander, and I want to know what can be done to help the Empire. I'd send my cousin Thelmay to teach them how to triple crop yields, but I'd have to teach her how to behead people to give her what she needed to build respect for her. I really don't think she would be able to do that."

Jean-Luc inhaled, his brow drawing together, setting aside the absurdity in her comment and seeing the underlying concern. "The Federation can only do so much. The Klingons haven't asked for help, and they aren't Federation members, only allies."

"I realize that. But my cousin is not the Federation, nor am I."

He leaned away from her slightly, regarded her with rising curiosity. But he stood and picked up the cups. "We should move this to the bridge. How are you feeling?"

"Well enough. A little nauseous. Not as bad as yesterday. But I've met no meat sandwiches yet."

He turned from recycling the cups. "I'm sorry," he said faintly.

"You didn't know, and it would have been rude to say anything. I'm more sensitive to smells than I was before. Meat is just one of several things that have turned my stomach recently."

She followed him from their quarters and down to the nearest turbolift. He asked for the bridge. "I had difficulty seeing how you could be with Worf," he said unexpectedly. "But I can see it now."

Deanna stared at him.

"You actually understand the Klingons, down to the nuances of their interactions," he said, putting his hands behind his back. "And you understand Alexander. Which of course you would. If Worf were not willing to serve, you would have made an excellent ambassador for them."

"I'm not sure what to make of that." It made her feel insecure all over again. Was he actually suggesting it?

"I'm merely thinking that I would be better off letting you continue to handle the situation. I was going to meet with the general myself, let you get on with the business of running the ship and continuing to sort out what's going on with the telepaths and keeping us informed, but I think you should be there."

He was telling the truth, and there was no anxiety going on under his thought process that she could sense. She sighed. "I need to take care of something else as well. I'm going to remove Matteo from the helm this morning."

"You agree then, that it would be best."

The lift opened. She followed him out, and into the ready room; he gave Carlisle a nod as they passed so the second officer would remain at the conn. He went to his desk, so she sat on the other side of it and crossed her legs, folding her hands. "Matteo is too distracted. He's not focusing on his work."

"And?"

Deanna felt her mouth settling into that firm, thin-lipped line of disapproval. But it was appropriate to the situation. She couldn't talk about Matteo's counseling sessions, during which she had sensed his attraction to her. It was one of those situations where she had actually confronted, oh so gently and carefully, and informed Matteo that he needed to work with Counselor Davidson, because that attraction would get in the way of counseling. Now, five months later, she was the first officer, and Matteo had come up on a short list of possibilities for helmsman. Ensign Dermott had transferred to another ship, so they had chosen from the more promising of the ensigns aboard to fill the position. Jean-Luc had liked Matteo's performance on beta shift. 

She couldn't tell him the entire story, however. Couldn't talk about how angry Matteo had been when she'd forced him to switch counselors. He hadn't said anything -- hadn't done anything. Scowled, left her office, and avoided her for months. That was fine by her. Until Jean-Luc asked her about him. She'd been forced to base her response solely on Matteo's work history, his performance on duty, and then tell him that she didn't like him for the position. 

"This is why you objected to him in the first place," Jean-Luc said, thinking along the same lines as she. "You had some idea that he would be this way?"

"I hoped he would keep himself together, do his job. It was a hunch that he would have difficulty, so I gave him the chance," she replied, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. 

His eyes narrowed. "I think you are not telling me everything. So that implies that you _cannot_ tell me that he was a client."

Deanna huffed quietly. "You're correct. I can't tell you whether or not he's a client, or was one."

"When I spoke to him, he denied there was anything wrong, and told me that he wanted to prove himself to me. I informed him that I would consider it."

"And you then told me he needed to go. So I'll inform him of that and find him another assignment, or facilitate a transfer if that is what he wants."

He was concerned, but shook his head and leaned back, hands behind his head. "Hopefully this will be the last such incident. I admit that I didn't really think about possible ramifications with specific crew members who were formerly your clients. Perhaps something we need to discuss further?"

The annunciator sounded, and Deanna stood up automatically. It might be something resulting in her dismissal. Jean-Luc called out, "Come."

General Kardan sauntered into the room. As he approached he smiled at Deanna. "Commander. Good morning. Captain. I just had an interesting discussion with our young Mr. Rozhenko."

"Do have a seat, General. Can we get you anything?" Deanna turned for the replicator alcove. She desperately hoped his response did not include the word 'meat.'

"No, no, I've eaten already -- replicators are wonderful things. Not plentiful enough in the Empire." Kardan sidled right and dropped heavily into the other chair. Deanna sat down again, and the general turned to look down at her. "No odd things today?"

Deanna chuckled at the question. "No odd things. I'm feeling better this morning." Jean-Luc observed this interaction with some interest and curiosity, but he could be fully informed later.

Kardan patted her shoulder -- the top, rather than a warrior's slap on the back. Now that he'd guessed she was pregnant he was feeling more protective. "Good, good. The lieutenant wants to visit you and your vessel for a while. Learn to fight from you. Said you teach a class?"

Of course, Alexander would frame the request that way. "I do. I'll resume classes after the mission is over. Alexander is welcome to stay if he wishes. We consider him family."

"My ship will be under repair for weeks. I do not have a problem with it. Maybe you will be able to do what we have not, improve his skills in battle. So -- what is our next move?"

Deanna met Jean-Luc's gaze. He leaned back in his chair a little, and gestured at the viewport at his left. "Any more recent insight into the situation with the unknowns?"

"The Tophe detect them by sensing their projected emotions. Now that I know how to do so, I can too. They have traveled out of my range, and only the Tophe remain."

"The question is, of course, whether they remain a threat to the Empire," Jean-Luc said.

"Martok and I conversed at length on the matter of our borders and how we might alter the sensors on our bases. He has consulted some of his Starfleet acquaintances and it's been suggested that we adopt a system of sensor nets between the bases, designed to defeat cloaking devices." Kardan did not, she sensed, have a fondness for Martok, but he did respect the current chancellor's authority.

"As it happens, the engineer who developed the tachyon detection grid on the Romulan Neutral Zone is our chief engineer," Jean-Luc said. "With more information we might find a way to help you with that."

"I can talk to the Tophe about their ability to detect cloaked vessels of other species. They might be able to do so, and they would likely share the information since none of the others are allies," Deanna said.

"Good." Jean-Luc tapped the console on his desk. "Bridge -- open a channel to Starfleet Command, Admiral Nechayev."

"I have heard of this admiral. Is she also a warrior?" Kardan asked.

Deanna smirked, looking down to hide her amusement. Jean-Luc said, "In a manner of speaking. Like most Starfleet officers, she tends to favor cooperation and collaboration over glorious victory. But she does have a history of defending the Federation." The computer beeped, and a light flashed, alerting him to the waiting subspace channel. He touched the console again, glancing at the monitor. The admiral's adjutant pleasantly announced her, and then Jean-Luc said, "Admiral. Good morning. I have Commander Troi and General Kardan with me."

"Good morning," came the admiral's voice. She sounded calm, not overly happy or unhappy, which Deanna took as a good sign. "I am informed that things are going well. Are there any updates since we spoke last night, Captain?"

"This morning all is quiet. The Tophe are still all around us, cloaked, and we're traveling to the next Klingon base along their border. We were speaking of the possibility of helping them establish a sensor grid along their borders, which will mean having our engineers have a look at the systems on their bases and identifying modifications that can be made with their existing equipment and parts we can replicate to upgrade as necessary."

"You'll forward the proposed modifications before you make them? I don't anticipate any difficulties but there are protocols for what we can share."

"Of course." Jean-Luc looked at Kardan with an expression that said he understood that such formalities were to be tolerated.

"Commander, I understand that you have been instrumental in communicating with the Tophe. Would you recommend putting telepaths on our vessels in sectors along the boundaries of the Beta Quadrant?"

"That would depend upon the sensibilities and the skill of the telepath. I can send you my logs." Deanna knew that recruitment of telepaths had been lower than general recruitment numbers. It would be impossible to put a telepath capable of the work of communicating with these species on every ship.

"Much appreciated, Commander. General, my apologies. It's been my misfortune to be tied up in too many crises at once. I would have come myself otherwise."

"I am more than satisfied with the captain's assistance," Kardan said. He smiled at Deanna instead, however. "You have my gratitude. There are more questions to be answered, but from what we have done so far, I'm confident that a solution will be reached."

"You're in good hands, General. Captain, you'll continue to keep me informed?"

"Yes, sir," Jean-Luc said. He exchanged a look with Deanna. She knew he'd been instructed to make these frequent check-ins. Command was nervous, generally, and especially about the unknowns in the Beta Quadrant.

"Thank you, all. Nechayev, out." The channel terminated with a beep.

"Your admiral is not friendly," Kardan observed.

Jean-Luc glanced at the general. "There are warmer ice planets," he commented with a raised brow.

Kardan laughed at the unexpected wry humor. "I know a few Klingon women like her. Once you warm them up -- _huh'teg!"_ He threw a hand up for emphasis.

"I must confess that I have never been at all tempted to find out," Jean-Luc said. "Commander, you are dismissed."

"Sir." She turned to the general. "If you will excuse me, General."

"_Qapla_'!" he exclaimed. He remained seated when she got up and left the room.

On the bridge, all was quiet. Matteo looked up from the helm. Deanna pointed past him at the door to the observation lounge. "Mr. Matteo, come with me." Ward sat down again as she passed in front of him.

Once in the observation lounge, she went to the viewport, then turned to face Matteo as he came to attention in front of her. He wasn't happy at all, of course. Steeling herself, she looked him in the eye. "We're reassigning you from the helm. I understand that you have some experience in security?"

He lost rigid control of himself, laughed harshly, and collected himself again. "May I ask why, Commander?"

"It's been observed by myself and others that you've been distracted too often while on duty. In a mission of such importance it's critical to have a bridge crew who are focused on their assigned posts rather than other bridge officers."

"This is ridiculous," he exclaimed. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

She leveled a cool stare at him. It was going as well as she'd expected. "Is it? Do you know there's a bridge recorder, Ensign?"

That caught him off guard. "Recorder?"

"Activity on the bridge is all logged, in a secure section of the computer. In the event of an investigation of any kind it can be accessed by Starfleet Security, with the proper authorizations. I'm reminding you of this for future reference, and that you were spending too much time looking around instead of minding your post. I can see that this upsets you, Ensign. I recommend that you take some time to think about the situation further. I'll contact you to discuss your next assignment after the conclusion of our current mission. You are dismissed, Ensign."

Matteo stared at her for a few seconds, until her order registered. He turned and rushed from the room at a stiff, rapid walk.

She knew that wouldn't be the end of it. He was too upset. Plexing, she strolled in a circle around the room, briefly reviewing in her head the possibilities -- but she dismissed at last the idea that there was anything he could really do about it other than waste their time. Even if he managed to get some traction in a court of any kind, there were ample records to demonstrate that she had done nothing wrong as a counselor, and that he was being reassigned for good reason.

"Troi to Greenman. Report to the observation lounge."

When Natalia Greenman arrived she was wearing the uniform of her current assignment, blue turtleneck and cuffs. "Sir," she said, coming to attention.

"I know you felt that you needed to spend time in sciences, but we need a helmsman and you are a known quantity," Deanna said. She would have gone on, but Natalia immediately reacted with a grimace and a complete lack of surprise. "Ensign?"

"Oh -- I knew Matteo would fall on his face, that's all. I mean -- nothing. I mean -- "

"Nat," she scolded gently. "What do you mean?"

"He's a whiner. I was in Ten Forward with a friend last night and he was there with someone else. He complains about things he's got no right to complain about. He doesn't like that you replaced Commander Data. That's all."

That wasn't all. But, it was enough. Natalia clearly had better sense than Matteo. "Do you accept the reassignment?"

"Yes, sir. I can go change my uniform and I should let Lieutenant-Commander Tolek know that I'm transferring."

"You can change later, and I will inform him. To your station, Ensign." Deanna waited for her to go and followed her onto the bridge, where the ensign displaced the young man currently sitting at the helm.

Ward stood up as she approached. "I didn't think you'd leave Matteo there for long," he murmured. "I was going to ask if you didn't do something."

"I'll be in my office if you need me, Ward. I have a few things to do, and then I'll come back to relieve you."

"Aye, sir," he said with a nod.

She proceeded to the aft turbolift. She had logs to make, and she needed to contact Tolek and let him know she'd taken one of his ensigns from astrometrics. She already decided she would offer him someone less likely to give a Vulcan headaches than Matteo.


	7. Chapter 7

"I think it says much about a man, who he marries," Kardan asserted firmly.

"Indeed?"

Kardan laughed loudly. It was obvious that he had been exercising restraint, to this point. "Oh, yes. My reputation was much improved, when I married Lenath. But she preceded me into StoVoKor, during the war."

Jean-Luc saw sadness in Kardan's face, but not as much as he would expect. It likely helped to believe that his wife was in a happy afterlife. This was one of those situations where Jean-Luc could see the opportunity to develop a closer relationship with the man in front of him. The comment was an invitation to reciprocate. But it wasn't the sort of situation that lent itself to long conversations, and he didn't feel the need to bond with the general.

"Shall we adjourn to the bridge? We have work to do."

"Decisions to make, orders to give. Yes." Kardan grunted as he got up from the chair.

They came out to a quiet bridge, and only one thing had changed -- Greenman sat at the helm. She glanced at him and focused on the helm again, not quite smiling. Jean-Luc stopped short of his chair, and looked down at the blue collar of her undershirt. As he wondered Ward came forward.

"Commander Troi told her to take the helm. I'm sure she'll wear the proper uniform tomorrow."

"Hmph." Jean-Luc turned to take his seat, and Ward went to ops, sending the lieutenant to his secondary station at the back of the bridge. Kardan took the counselor's empty chair without a word.

"Sir, incoming transmission from the _Kang_," deLio announced.

"Put it on the main viewer."

The general's daughter standing on her bridge replaced the stars. "General. We have received a report that Base 246 has been attacked."

Kardan gave Jean-Luc a wide-eyed, one-eyed glance. "Battle stations, Commander! Captain -- are you joining us?"

Jean-Luc stood up. "Red alert -- deLio, give the coordinates to the helm."

"Course laid in," Natalia announced.

"Maximum warp." It would leave the Birds of Prey behind, but they would catch up.

Lokar cut the transmission, and the stars blurred -- while they were en route, Deanna arrived to stand next to him. He looked at her, she raised an eyebrow.

"Base 246 is under attack," he said.

"I see. The Tophe are following us," she said.

Kardan stood up then, slowly. "Why?" he asked, taking a few steps to join them. "Are they helping us?"

"If the attackers have something they need, they'll have a reason to attack," Deanna said.

"Let's just see what we're up against," Jean-Luc said. He saw the yellow light on the helm over Greenman's shoulder. "deLio, charge phasers and get a lock with a full spread of photon torpedos -- shields up the second we drop out of warp."

"Aye, sir," deLio said.

The general hum-hummed. And they dropped out of warp. On the main viewer a distant starbase, with blossoms of yellow and white around it -- the flaring of polaron based weapons against shields. A Vor'cha class cruiser heeled about and made a run at one of the alien ships, disruptors firing, one striking the shields of the alien vessel.

"Ten alien vessels targeted," deLio announced. "Sending the _Pah_ a notification that we are joining the battle."

"Fire," Jean-Luc growled. The general gave him an approving sidelong glance. Deanna bowed her head, her expression very serious. She wasn't blocking him, as she'd said, and he could tell she was bracing for battle. Her distaste for fighting was longstanding and intense. Wars were difficult for empaths.

Their phasers struck the nearest aggressor, and the spread of torpedoes streaked away from the _Enterprise _after the others. The _Pah _made another run at a straggler. Two of the damaged vessels cloaked, vanishing from view. Others were fleeing, several going to warp and one struggling along at impulse.

"HAH," the general cried, clapping his hands together. "Well done!"

"The base has been compromised," deLio announced. 

"Long range scans show more ships -- the damaged ones are falling back but I see movement," Carlisle said. "Six vessels are approaching, in an attack pattern."

"Let's see it," Jean-Luc said at once. The main viewer shifted to a green-on-black grid with green symbols representing ship placement. There were six triangles approaching as Ward had said, one attached to the base, which was represented as a cylinder. Kardan harrumphed loudly. 

"Anything you can tell about them, Commander?" the general asked. Jean-Luc smirked -- one day, and the general was keyed in to the usefulness of Deanna's talents. 

"Mr. Carlisle, are these the same aliens we've encountered before?" Jean-Luc asked. "Are they attacking?"

"This is a new ship configuration -- we've never seen these before. They are coming at impulse -- no weapons targeted and no shields."

"Hail them, deLio," Deanna said urgently. 

"Sending on all channels... no response, sir," deLio said. 

"Evasive maneuvers," Deanna exclaimed. "deLio, what about the base? Has it been taken? How many Klingon life signs on it?"

Jean-Luc watched the screen -- the Starfleet insignia representing the position of the _Enterprise_ moved away, and three of the six alien vessels on approach moved to counter. Deanna took a step forward to look over Greenman's shoulder at the helm, and glanced at him. 

"The base is losing atmosphere," deLio said. "One of the vessels has breached the upper levels by force. There are two dozen Klingon life forms and more of an unidentified life form -- carbon based, but unknown."

As deLio spoke, the Klingon symbol on the screen made a run at the three alien vessels approaching the base, and fired -- one vessel vanished and the other two continued toward the base. The _Enterprise_ moved in a long arc toward them, and two more Klingon symbols appeared -- the Birds of Prey had caught up with them. 

"Signal the _Kang_ and the _Kon'Ma_," Jean-Luc said. "Ask them to defend the base. Target the vessels pursuing us with a quantum torpedo."

Kardan said something in Klingon. Rather than interpret it, Jean-Luc watched the _Enterprise _veer off on a course that would ensure the Klingon vessels and the base were not at risk of being hit by the torpedo launched aft. 

"Fire."

The three vessels started to scatter as the torpedo struck the center of their formation and detonated. All three of them vanished. 

"Hard about -- target the two on course for the base," Jean-Luc snapped. 

"Now," Deanna said, sounding calm and happy. He was about to ask -- but Carlisle gasped, and so Jean-Luc turned back to the main viewer. Suddenly there were hundreds of vessels filling the area around them. "The Tophe are still with us."

The unknown aliens ran. They went to warp, one by one, disappearing from sensors. Within seconds, the only one left on the grid was attached to the base. Then the small dots that had been Tophe vessels disappeared as swiftly as they had appeared, in a wave starting on the left side of the screen sweeping to the right.

"Cloaking again," Deanna said. "They're sending vessels in pursuit. deLio, arrange security teams for deployment -- contact the Klingon vessels to coordinate the effort to re-take the base." She walked as she spoke, heading up the bridge to the turbolift.

"_Qapla'_, Commander," Jean-Luc called out. Greenman stifled a laugh, as she adjusted their course back to the base. 

Kardan hum-hummed, eyeing him suspiciously. "You hardly give orders. Do you let them just decide?"

"The first officer coordinates and leads away missions. She knows her job."

Jean-Luc waited through two more long range scans, Kardan's conversations with his two ship commanders, and then sat down. Since all seemed settled at the moment, he said, "Lieutenant, drop status to yellow alert."

"Aye, sir," Lana'hai said, his voice via the vocoder sounding mechanical as usual. 

Kardan eyed the Sulamid at tactical, then took a step, spun, and sat down with Jean-Luc. He hummed to himself, put his hands on his knees, and glanced around. "If the Empire became a Federation member, we could work together more closely," he said. 

"That would be an excellent outcome," Jean-Luc said. He watched the movement of the symbols on the grid -- the _Kang _and the _Kon'ma_ were in a closer orbit around the base, and the _Enterprise _had settled into a wider orbit. He knew when Deanna left the ship -- the bond was normally a murmur in the back of his mind, unless she intentionally blocked him out. He could feel the connection become more tenuous with distance when she beamed away. 

The flickering of the display on the left arm of the chair caught his attention as he leaned back to wait. There was a message from Nechayev waiting there. He raised his eyes to the screen, focused on the thread of connection he felt, and hoped that the effort to help the Klingons didn't cost them too much.


	8. Chapter 8

Deanna materialized on the relevant deck of the Klingon starbase holding the phaser rifle in her arms, ready for everything. She knew there were three security teams with her, but after the transporter effect went away, she was left in darkness. She reached across to turn on the wrist lamp on her left arm, but heard a sound that made her freeze in place.

"Commander," deLio said from somewhere to her right, so very softly.

"Hold, everyone," she said. "Still and quiet."

In the distance, the grating of metal on metal, and an animalistic squeal, followed by a cough and a grunt. She could sense it -- an animal of some sort, she thought. It didn't seem sentient to her. She didn't think the Klingons would have animals on starbases, but perhaps she was wrong. They did prefer live _gagh_, perhaps it was a food animal? Or someone's pet targh.

"Lights," she said, after a moment of not sensing anything else in their vicinity.

In seconds, multiple beams of white light began to sweep back and forth. She shone hers forward. They appeared to be in a main corridor and for as far as the beam reached, about a hundred feet, she saw nothing but a single body -- a Klingon lay face down on the floor in a pool of blood, a disruptor pistol at his side. She went forward and heard the many footfalls behind her. At the junction, a three-way T, she sent a team to the left and turned right, taking two teams with her. At the end of the corridor there was a turbolift.

"Troi to _Enterprise_ \-- I'm going to leave this channel open," she said as she approached the door. "We have no lights. The air feels stale. We've found one dead warrior and we can hear some sort of animal somewhere close, the noise might be coming through air ducts. I'm about to enter a lift and proceed up a deck." They'd been placed a deck below the one that the aliens had breached.

"Acknowledged," came the captain's calm response. He didn't feel calm, but she knew well that he could project it. 

"Commander, we see you on sensors. There are a dozen Klingon life forms directly above you," came Ward's voice.

"Thank you." The door of course did not open. deLio came forward and began to work at the edge, and Lieutenant Tormund joined him. They managed together to pull back the door halfway, and deLio went up first, taking with him a rolled-up ladder they'd brought in case the Klingons' architecture did not include ways to climb inside the turbolift shafts.

It took a while for nine people to climb up the dark tube and exit the next door up, and Deanna was the fourth one in line. At the top she and deLio went down the corridor to the next junction, and she started to hear tense voices speaking in Klingon. Knowing that a jumpy warrior was a dangerous one, she called out, "Warriors of the Empire! We are from the Federation starship _Enterprise_ \-- we are here to join you in battle!"

Silence, then one of them called out, "_Sappu'vaD mamuvmoHlaw'. batlh maSuvjaj!!"_

"My Klingon is rusty but I think that means we're welcome?" Tormund said.

"Yes." Deanna went forward, and found the corridor widened into an area that appeared to be some sort of center of operations. Six Klingons were there, standing in the darkness. They squinted and flinched as her light swept across them. "Commander Deanna Troi. I am accompanied by our security chief, Lieutenant-Commander deLio, and eleven others. Four are on the deck below sweeping for aliens." She didn't say that she could tell there was two aliens below, and two above. There were other Klingons somewhere else on the base, but at a distance that made them indistinct to her.

"_Qapla',_" one of the Klingons exclaimed. "I am Commander Sobol, this is my base. We have engineers working on restoring the power. The attack damaged our generators. We are still tracking the aliens."

"May we join you in the hunt?" She kept her light pointed at the ceiling, and behind her the others followed suit. It allowed illumination of the immediate area, so they could see the Klingons standing in front of them.

Sobol roared out in laughter, and was joined by the others. "_wam neH be' mach!" _one of them exclaimed. 

"Suvlu'taHvIS yapbe' HoS neH," Deanna replied.

It silenced all of them. Over the open comm link, she heard Kardan chuckling. And then the general laughed outright, and said in his gravelly, confident baritone, _"lyaSvammo' Haghchugh lIpaymoHbej!_"

"_Sa' Kardan_," Sobol exclaimed. Deanna could sense the surprise, and the nervousness.

"I have the _Enterprise _on an open channel," Deanna said. "The general is on our bridge with Captain Picard. I ask again, may we join you?"

She saw, and sensed, the shift -- Kardan's endorsement and her refusal to couch the offer of assistance in terms the Klingons would find demeaning had done the job of gaining her some respect. Perhaps they would take them seriously. Sobol gestured vaguely with a gloved hand. "Can you hunt in the dark, without sensors? The creatures are stealthy."

"Mr. Carlisle?"

"We're picking up four unknowns on the station. Two on the deck below you, two above."

"Mr. Tormund," Deanna said, gesturing right. The team of four went that direction. Sobol barked an order and two of the Klingons went with them. They were, Deanna noticed, carrying bladed weapons. She turned to shine the light down another corridor off to the left, finding it empty, but her empathy told her there was something that direction. "Your power center, which deck is it on?"

"Six decks down from this one. We cannot tell if there is still life support."

Carlisle was right with her on the next step. "Sensors indicate that there is. We'll beam an engineering team in to see what we can do to fix it."

"I will send the engineer of the _Kon'ma _to assist," Kardan added.

Sobol guffawed -- there was less amusement than surprise behind it. "Then we will hunt. Come, _loQ SuvwI'_ and we will find glory."

'Little Warrior' was better than 'little woman' at least. Deanna nodded to deLio, and as she stepped out he gave the order to the others to move in formation, flanking her. He and the Klingons came in behind them. Sobol was happy to let her lead, and in fact was feeling a little trepidation as they went looking for one of the aliens.

They moved through the corridors with surprising stealth, considering the Klingons wore big armored boots. She sensed the creature ahead of her and slowed, continuing to sweep the light back and forth. There was another dead warrior on the floor, his weapon fallen near him, his face torn open as if by something with claws. She picked up the bat'leth, holding the phaser rifle in her other hand, and hefted it, balancing it on her shoulder.

Another few minutes of movement with only patches of corridor visible, and then suddenly the lights came on. Several of her team gasped or grunted at the sudden blinding change.

When her eyes adjusted seconds later, she saw at the far end of the corridor a tall black biped. It had upright pointed ears like a horse, at the top of a domed head. Then she recognized that somehow, the thing was actually wearing armor; it was plated in overlapped dull black metal from head to foot.

It barked and charged.

"Stop," she shouted, dropping the bat'leth with a clang and bringing the phaser rifle to bear. She shot -- it was already on stun. The blast slowed it, but mostly bounced off the armor. That explained why it wore such a thing. Not even thinking about the rest of the team, she dropped the rifle, snatched up the bat'leth, and acted as automatically as she always did on the holodeck.

The weapon was heavier than the one she used, but practice and muscle memory paid off. The tip as she swung it upward forcefully slipped between plates of armor, sank into flesh -- she felt the pain even as the creature shrieked but followed through as hard as she could, pushing and twisting and forcing it backward, and then deLio was there. He grabbed and took the creature over backward as he flung himself past it, yanking it away from her. The bat'leth pulled free as she clung to it and backed off to watch him grapple briefly then rise to his feet, the sacs on his cheeks deflating slowly.

It was dead, she realized, as she caught her breath.

"Commander? Commander?"

Had he been trying to summon her for very long? "Captain," she said at last, approaching the creature as she spoke. "We killed one of the four. They aren't sentient, but I suspect there are handlers who are. It's wearing some sort of helmet with -- " She stared at the lens mounted on either side of the head. There was a glow to them that made her think they were still active. She leaned in, peering into the lens. "You may as well leave," she said firmly. "You're not going to win this battle."

The glow faded and went out. She studied the face of the thing -- it resembled a bear, but there were differences. Standing back from it, she turned to Sobol. The Klingon and his three companions were staring at her with wide eyes.

"Commander, the alien vessel is detaching from the base. We're beaming back the teams -- unless there are emergency force fields it's about to lose atmosphere rapidly," Carlisle said.

"System failures have made that uncertain," Sobol said. "Evacuation will be necessary."

"Stand by for beamout," the captain said.

Deanna glanced at deLio. He stood at attention and so the last thing she saw before the beam took them was her security officer saluting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the Klingon back-and-forth between Sobol and Troi:
> 
> Sobol: Sappu'vaD mamuvmoHlaw'. batlh maSuvjaj! -- Apparently we're recruiting volunteers. May we fight honorably!
> 
> wam neH be' mach -- the little woman wants to hunt
> 
> Troi: Suvlu'taHvIS yapbe' HoS neH -- Brute strength is not the most important asset in a fight
> 
> Kardan: yaSvammo' Haghchugh lIpaymoHbej -- If you laugh at this officer she will make you regret it
> 
> My thanks to Elizabeth for the Klingon wrangling!


	9. Chapter 9

"They need more than just the upgrades for the sensor net," Geordi commented, as they walked into the turbolift after leaving engineering. They'd been reviewing what would be provided to the Klingons to help them deal with the cloaked invaders.

Jean-Luc sighed heavily. It had taken all day and another staff briefing, and a lot of transporter use, to get to this point. Power had been restored to the base and more Klingon vessels were arriving with more staff to replace ones that had been killed. Kardan had nearly talked himself hoarse, contacting reinforcements and redeploying their fleet. Teams from the _Enterprise_ had been helping bring the base's systems back online and studying them to inform Starfleet of what was needed to set up the sensor grid. Jean-Luc had been speaking to Nechayev, then to both the admiral and the Klingon Chancellor, trying to work out what the next steps to address this issue should be. For the first time in memory, Martok had not immediately dismissed an appeal to the Romulans, who were no doubt having their own problems on their borders along the Beta Quadrant, as an option. Things were shifting slowly from old hostilities to new collaborative efforts. Martok thought that the reports regarding the telepathic species might be enough to budge the more traditional members of the High Council toward Federation membership. There were no telepaths in the Klingon Empire.

It would take some Federation diplomats a long time to work out some sort of collaboration between the Romulan Empire and the Klingon Empire, but they had enough evidence to make it obvious that it would be necessary. Jean-Luc fervently hoped that the _Enterprise_ would be deployed elsewhere. He respected and appreciated the Klingons, but he wanted his wife and first officer back. He'd been watching Dr. Mengis become increasingly concerned about her. Though the doctor continued to maintain that she was fine, he was also monitoring her very closely, which Jean-Luc took as a hint that she needed to not be any more Klingon than was absolutely necessary. She had already done more than she had to -- helping Sobol find and dispatch the last three creatures had been her last act on the base before returning to the ship.

"We need many things, Geordi. But it will take time to get them. Cooperation is high on the list and some of the bigger players need to be convinced. For now, I'll settle for some down time."

Geordi chuckled as they faced forward. "Ten Forward," he said, getting them moving. "Batris has beta shift -- he said when he came in that it's quite the party in the lounge with the Klingons. I guess Deanna has a lot of admirers now."

"I'm beginning to think everything we've been told about the Klingon battle acumen is hyperbole." Geordi knew, as he did, because Deanna had reported exactly what happened, that they were making more of her battle with the creatures than had actually taken place.

"It sure looks that way. Those creatures did a lot of damage though, so the fact that she was able to take one of them down by herself was pretty impressive."

The base had been systematically invaded by roving groups of the creatures, all armored against energy weapon fire, and the Klingons had been mostly successful in defending themselves due to the bladed weapons they favored. But it had come at great cost. Of the complement of one hundred fifty-four soldiers on the base, all but twenty-two had been killed in the effort. They'd slaughtered several hundred of the creatures in the fight and never gotten a look at whatever sentient species had deployed them. While the Klingon vessels present had gone after the ship after it detached from the base it had gone to warp without engaging in battle.

"I wonder if this was a test," Jean-Luc said after a moment's thought. "If they sent a fraction of whatever force lies waiting beyond our sensor range, to gauge our response."

Geordi sucked air through his teeth, making a hissing sound. "I sure hope not. That would be bad."

"Understatement is your gift." Jean-Luc inhaled sharply, tugging his jacket straight as the door opened. "Shall we?"

When they stepped into Ten Forward, the laughter of Klingon warriors was the first thing Jean-Luc noticed. He glanced at Geordi and considered -- finally ended up heading for the empty table to their left, away from the bar, which was surrounded by their guests. All the Starfleet officers present were at the tables along the viewports. Counselor Davidson was sitting alone and waved at them; Jean-Luc went to him, rather than sit at an empty table, because then it looked as though he was looking for someone rather than avoiding the Klingons.

"They're writing a song," Ben said as they sat down with him. 

"Really?" Jean-Luc glanced over at the bar. Two of the warriors were indeed quietly singing, one of them waving a hand and shaking his head, leading to a brief disagreement.

"Well, that figures," Geordi said. "It sounded to me like Sobol wanted to hire her for station security."

"It's pretty impressive that she was able to take out a ten foot tall monster," Ben said, without a trace of irony. 

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with Geordi. They'd both had a look at the creature in sickbay while Mengis was doing a full evaluation of it. The tech integrated into the brain of the animal was interesting, not at all similar to the Borg nanotechnology but effective at controlling the creature. Sort of a remote juggernaut, to do the fighting on the behalf of their controller. The Klingons had scoffed and mocked the thought of sending animals to fight their battles for them. The creature was definitely not ten feet tall, however, and without the armor on, it was merely an animal with short gray fur, sharp teeth, and short claws that indicated that it wasn't really much of a predator. Mengis had determined it was omnivorous, and probably genetically engineered.

"I think it's possible that there may be some exaggerating," Geordi said.

The waiter came and took their orders. The Klingons fell to talking, ordering more blood wine, and so the general noise level dropped somewhat. Davidson picked up his mug and gazed at Jean-Luc with a sober expression. "I guess there was a bit of drama on the bridge? I've had some fallout from the change in assignments."

"We need officers on the bridge who have more focus on their station, and less on the behavior of others," Jean-Luc said. It was irritating that this had to be a conversation, but the counselor was not in Starfleet to be an officer; he had been a psychologist in the private sector for more than fifteen years when he responded to the call to join Starfleet because counselors were badly needed. Although he'd been through an abbreviated training program at the Academy, Ben didn't spend a lot of time on the bridge and didn't truly understand what it could be like during a mission.

"I know you don't make recommendations based on hearsay, or tell clients what to do. But as a general recommendation, when they have questions about assignments and changes to them, they need to ask the supervisor," Jean-Luc said. He could hear the frustration in his words, but Davidson already knew the source of it. Too many green officers and cadets, not enough professionals. And the standards for acceptance to the Academy had to have been loosened. Someone like Matteo would have had intervention much sooner than this, either shifted his attitude or not been assigned to a ship at all, before the war. Geordi's expression said that he shared the frustration.

"Maybe I should ask if you could help me understand how it could come about that someone could accuse the commander of leading them on and then rejecting them," Ben said.

Geordi sat up straighter and both his brows climbed. "Um."

"Matteo," Jean-Luc said, finally pushed from frustration to anger. 

"I didn't say that." But the counselor didn't deny it either, and his own frustration was apparent in his face. "And I know it isn't true, because I have access to all the records of the current crew, and I've worked with Deanna since this vessel was launched. I know how she is with clients."

"Didn't Matteo come aboard less than six months ago? You've been with her longer than that," Geordi said to Jean-Luc. "And anyone who knows the two of you would know better than to think she's paid any attention to anyone else."

"This is more concerning to me as a symptom of a larger problem," Jean-Luc said, watching the Klingons start singing again. Something about a woman with a bat'leth defending a Klingon stronghold. "Young officers who feel entitled to personalize situations when they are offered opportunities to self-correct."

"When someone is personalizing some action taken on duty, I usually recommend speaking to their direct supervisor, or the first officer," Ben said. "I intend to consult directly with Deanna, of course. But I wanted to speak to you directly so you knew about such issues, before one of them personalizes something I say and starts to complain to you."

Jean-Luc looked away, hoping he was successful in hiding his ire that Matteo had gone so far as to send a message to the fleet admiral. That Nechayev's reaction was to forward it to him with the equivalent of an eye roll didn't make it any less upsetting. It demonstrated that remedial education in what a chain of command was for had to be administered, and it was embarrassing. And that he had to task his first officer with the job of making sure that the latest crop of idiots understood was both aggravating and satisfying. He knew she'd been struggling to fit into her new role, nervous about her performance, and felt helpless to reassure her. That was his complication -- his wife needed his support, but not the captain's indulgence. Adding to her stress levels with yet another task worried him. At the same time he knew she was the best person to handle the situation with tact and an appropriate level of firmness, whereas he knew if he went to talk to Matteo he would end up snapping at him and throwing him off the ship at the next starbase. 

Part of him actually hoped for that eventual outcome. It would be quite satisfying to have him gone for good. 

"Oh," Geordi exclaimed softly. Jean-Luc followed his gaze. Deanna had just entered Ten Forward. The Klingons turned together and started chanting, "Troi! Troi!" until she smiled and went to join them, looking tired but bowing to the demands of diplomacy. They drew her into their midst and Sobol shouted for blood wine for her.

"No," she said firmly, loud enough to get their attention. "I regret that I can't drink to victory with you -- my health demands something else."

"AHA, yes," Sobol exclaimed. "The general said you are with child!"

"Oh, hell," Jean-Luc muttered, as Geordi grinned and the counselor's head swiveled around to stare wide-eyed at him. The other Starfleet officers were also craning their necks around to look at him.

"What do you want to drink?" one of the other Klingons boomed out loudly.

Deanna turned to the woman behind the bar. "Chamomile tea," she said.

All the Klingons slammed their big metal goblets down on the bar. Blood wine sloshed out, mostly on the bar, some on the hands of the Klingons. "CHAMOMILE TEA," they chorused. 

Geordi started to laugh, hugging himself and leaning back in his chair. Ben was shocked, and starting to get to laughter, though he was trying not to. Jean-Luc watched the exchange of metal Klingon-sized cups of blood wine for the same cups with chamomile tea. And then he started to laugh himself, as they all raised them and started to sing the Ballad of Deanna Troi. 

Deanna stood surrounded by warriors in armor, some of whom were twice her size, and sipped her cup of tea, incredulous -- she watched two of the Klingons mime the battle while they sang. They all raised their tea at the end and shouted a cheer to her celebrating her victory, so she raised her cup -- the Klingons quaffed their tea, and then their shocked expressions of pain ensued, and then Sobol laughed, starting the others laughing as well. Not even the mild and gentle flavor of chamomile would disrupt their celebration.

Deanna raised her cup in Jean-Luc's direction as he'd expected her to do. "_yInwIj lu', yay lu'," _she called out, not quite managing the volume or enthusiasm to carry it off. It was immaterial. The Klingons toasted her again, a couple of them leaning in to smack her on the back. Thankfully, they seemed to be pulling their punches. Since the ceremony seemed to be over, she came across to sit with them instead of continuing to carouse with her new friends. Ben and Geordi moved closer together to allow space for her chair next to Jean-Luc.

"Commander Kahless, I presume," he said, low enough that the Klingons wouldn't hear him over their own loud conversations with each other.

She giggled at it, shaking her head, raising her cup again. Her stomach must have reacted to the smell of blood wine. 

"Ben thinks the monster was ten feet tall," Geordi said.

Deanna almost spat out her tea. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Not even close."

"You can see the thing if you would like," Jean-Luc said. "Mengis has it in stasis pending further analysis."

"Just remember, everything a Klingon says and does is magnified," Deanna said. "You can't have a successful mission, you must have a victorious one that brings glory and honor to your house."

"Ah," Ben said, as if it explained everything. "I'm impressed nonetheless. I couldn't swing a bat'leth if my life depended on it."

Deanna gave him a wilting smile. "You sound like me, ten years ago. Don't dismiss the idea too quickly. You could always come to my mok'bara class."

"Who knows, maybe they'll sing a song about you next time," Geordi said.

Ben rolled his eyes. He glanced at a padd sitting on the table and picked it up, rising from his chair. "As much as I'd like to stay and learn the Ballad of Deanna Troi, I have an appointment in a few minutes. See you all later."

As the counselor left, Geordi glanced out at the base, which was visible outside. They had two shuttlecraft out to address hull breaches. "I should go check on things, before I turn in for the night. See you in the morning."

"Good night, Geordi."

Deanna turned from watching their friend leave. "I think I should go as well, after I finish my tea. Dr. Mengis will put me on leave if I show up in the morning with low psylosinine levels as I did this morning. I'm afraid a good meal and rest are the only solution."

"Is your appetite any better?"

"Not after the smell of the blood wine. Maybe if I get something that appeals to me it will stimulate it again."

"Then we should go." 

As they headed for the door, the Klingons raised their cups again. Jean-Luc smiled and gave them a wave, and a hearty "_qapla'_" -- the Klingons returned the greeting in kind. In the corridors they encountered a few crew who gave them a nod in passing, some of them smiling at Deanna knowingly. Clearly news had spread.

He followed her into their quarters. Debated bringing up Matteo and other issues, but decided to give her the rest she needed. Tomorrow would be soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

Deanna sipped her coffee and reviewed another report. Day six of their excursion into the Empire, and now there was an endless backlog.

She had reached her saturation point with the Klingons -- there was only so much hale and hearty she could muster. The base modifications were mostly in Geordi's purview, and so she filed her own logs, worked on the scheduling, spoke to Lieutenant-Commander Tolek about a replacement for Ensign Greenman, and took most of the bridge duty, while Jean-Luc went back and forth with the general, supervising. The doctor had put his foot down about spending more time with Klingons after one of them invited her to spar with him. At least they understood following orders, and didn't take it personally that she had other duties.

She hadn't spoken to Matteo, upon learning that he'd jumped to the fleet admiral to complain about her, skipping herself, the captain, and an admiral. While Nechayev had issued orders directly to them and likely would do so again, Admiral Connelly was in fact their direct superior at the moment. All Matteo had accomplished was to mildly bemuse Nechayev, who had mentioned it to her on the last subspace chat with her. In the end she'd interviewed and selected an ensign from security who wanted experience in astrometrics, and put Matteo in security. The final order had been logged that morning, and no doubt Matteo had already received the notification.

She fully expected a response.

The annunciator went off as she sensed the general approaching. It surprised her that Kardan wasn't headed for the bridge. He spent time in the observation lounge often, contacting his commanders from there. When she let him in, he stood in her small office, taking up most of the space.

"I would have thought such an important person would have a bigger space," he said, turning in place.

"I don't spend much time here, and rarely entertain visitors. The captain on the other hand frequently has meetings in the ready room. Is there something I can do for you, General?"

He waved a hand, scoffing, and gestured at her. "I am about to leave your ship, to return to the home world on the _Kang_. Martok wishes me to speak to the High Council directly about all that has transpired. I wanted to thank you. At the start of this mission I had no idea I would end it feeling somewhat optimistic."

Deanna could have responded several ways to that. She thought she might understand why he might be pessimistic. She smiled fondly at him. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I enjoyed working with you. I hope we can work together again."

"I would renew my appeal to you for joining my crew, but as I understand where your loyalties lie...." He waved his hand, dismissing the idea with a gap-toothed grin. "So when the Empire joins the Federation, you will invite me to your House on Betazed?"

"My mother would be happy to show you the Fifth House." She stood up and came around the end of her desk. "Are you supporting Martok's push for membership?"

"Are there many officers such as yourself and your captain?"

"There are some. We, too, have lost many in the war. More than a million Starfleet officers are dead. Ninety million citizens lost. The _Enterprise_ has many cadets aboard at this time; we're trying to rebuild our fleet, as you are."

Kardan grunted. "And more invaders on the horizon. But, we will prevail," he announced, reaching. His arm across her shoulders was heavy. "Thank you."

"I look forward to working with the Empire again, and I hope to see you again when we do."

Kardan stared at her, clearly wrapped up in deep thought.

"General?"

"Too many of us have died," he said distantly. Blinking his one eye, he exhaled loudly. "Glorious victories were replaced by too many dead warriors, who lived too little and died useless deaths."

She stared -- that was tantamount to hearsay, for a Klingon.

"I know," he said sadly, wagging his head. "But the old ways are wearing thin, in the face of foes we cannot fight. The Borg, the Jem'hadar -- they breed too rapidly, they overwhelmed us with sheer numbers, our rules do not apply. And now telepaths, cloaking devices -- it comes to a point that I cannot in good conscience order men to throw themselves into battle without considering the cost."

"I understand," she said softly. "But you aren't alone."

"_Qapla'_ \-- and take care of your child. I look forward to meeting him one day," Kardan said. He turned about ponderously and left the office.

Deanna leaned back against her desk and put her hands over her stomach. The fetus was tiny, the pregnancy not showing yet, but she'd started to feel more nausea randomly, not just when she was exposed to strong odors. She sighed, hanging her head, checking -- the Tophe had gone their way to systems the Klingons had selected just beyond the border of the Empire. There were worlds that had once been occupied, now empty of sentient populations. An agreement had been reached that they would send computerized messages to warn the Klingons if other species showed up. She could sense no aliens now, only the Klingons and their own crew.

But as she scanned, she knew someone was approaching her office. The person stood outside her door for a moment. She stood up, squaring her shoulders, and responded when the chime came. The door opened.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Matteo," she said smoothly, putting on her best counselor's face.

He paused, startled by the friendly reception. "Sir."

Deanna went back behind her desk and gestured at the chair on the other side of it, then sat down. Matteo obeyed, sitting down stiffly.

"What can I do for you today?"

"I want to request a transfer," he said.

"So you're giving up."

"_You_ don't want me here," he exclaimed with unexpected vitriol.

Deanna tilted her head, thinking about what she knew about him from the handful of counseling sessions. "Ensign. What I want at this time is a crew made up of officers who do their jobs. When I was a counselor, I wanted to help officers do their job in a healthy way. That's the sum of what I expected to be my role in your life."

"That's not what you said, before," he insisted, almost shouting.

Deanna pursed her lips. She wondered what exactly he'd misinterpreted. She might have asked, if it were relevant, if she were still the counselor, but it wasn't. "Mr. Matteo. You misunderstood something that I said. That doesn't mean that I am at fault for your performance on duty, and it doesn't give you grounds for a complaint."

He deflated slightly. "You told me that I should pursue what I wanted -- you said I could get it! You told me you could sense everything that I feel, because you're an empath. You _knew_ how I felt about you and told me that I could have what I wanted!"

She sighed, folded her hands on the edge of her desk, and leaned forward. "I also told you that I don't respond to emotions that I sense all the time. I don't recall the conversation exactly but I most certainly did _not_ tell you that I had any interest in you personally. I'm married, Ensign. I have no interest in anyone but my husband, in that way."

Matteo sat back a little, swayed forward, and tipped his chin upward slightly. She could tell he wavered, but he didn't show it in his face. "Married?"

She gestured with her hands, refolding them, making sure that her ring was clearly visible. "If you prefer to be in engineering, I can speak to Mr. LaForge to see if he has anyone looking for a transfer. We have cadets who will be completing their fieldwork and transferring, and four officers who are also moving to other vessels in the fleet. If you still wish to transfer, you will need to file a request yourself, in the system. And I will add also that any further complaints are to be given to your supervising officer. If the complaint is about your supervising officer, you would make it to the first officer; if it's about the first officer you would speak to the captain. If the issue is with the captain you speak to the admiral who is the direct supervisor -- not the fleet admiral. Do you have any questions about the chain of command?"

"No, sir."

She studied him, noting that he seemed less tense than at the start, and the anger had diminished radically. "The fleet admiral forwarded your complaint back to me. She requested that I remind you about the chain of command and how to address grievances. Would you like to speak to the captain next?"

Matteo stiffened again briefly. She watched his shoulders drop and his gaze fell. "No, sir."

"You'll report to Lieutenant-Commander deLio in the morning, then. He'll orient you to his department. You are dismissed."

He stared, his dark eyes wide, his face set in stone while he went through a moment of internal debate. "Sir." He stood up and made it to the door, then turned back. "Commander?"

"Mr. Matteo," she returned, calm and unsmiling.

"I'm sorry that I misunderstood," he said. "And I'm embarrassed that it angered me to the point that I snapped and sent that message to the fleet admiral."

"Apology accepted. I expect you will in the future remember that any Starfleet officer's priority should be duty, and if you have questions Mr. deLio will be there to help you answer them."

"Thank you, sir." He turned and left her office.

Deanna spent a few minutes in meditation, then turned to her monitor to return to the backlog. Reviewing status reports was hardly the most interesting part of her job but it was necessary. She got a cup of hot chamomile from the replicator and smiled, remembering the reactions of the Klingons to the drink. It was likely she would feel that distaste for it herself, before the end of the pregnancy. Fortunate there were so many varieties of tea in the replicator. She finished reviewing engineering reports and brought up the oldest of the unreviewed security reports, but noticed out of the tail of her eye that the chess board sitting on the small table in the corner of her office behind her changed. One of the pieces dissolved from the first tier and reappeared on the second. She turned her chair, studying the locations of the pieces anew; Data had made his next move and it was her turn. She was very much enjoying his parting gift. It reminded her often of her friend.

"Picard to Troi," came the summons she hadn't expected. She knew he was close. He'd been on the bridge.

"Troi here, sir."

"Do you have a moment?"

"I have as many moments as you need, sir."

Instead of giving her an order to join him, the door opened, and he stepped into the office. He held something flat in one hand, and smiled happily, his eyes meeting hers with the warmth he didn't have on duty. "No need for formality," he said, holding out the object.

She stood up as she took it. Pulling the white paper off the gift, she laughed. "Oh, I was debating what to put up. This is perfect." It was a frame like the one Beverly had given them for a wedding present, but smaller. It would fit in the bare spot on the wall across from her desk. She came from behind the desk to hang it there, adjusted it slightly, and pressed the button on the lower right corner. When it came on, the first image displayed was of the two of them -- the formal wedding shot Data had taken of them right after the vows. 

Deanna stood back and took a moment to enjoy the reminder. He stepped up beside her, and she felt his hand in the small of her back. "I realized I hadn't given you an office-warming gift," he commented.

"Thank you," she murmured, turning to kiss him on the cheek. He turned his head as she did and their lips met, first a light contact, then he stepped in, and she pivoted, her arms going around him. Their tongues moved together, and then they parted slowly. He brushed his fingers down the front of her uniform, pressed his palm against her belly.

"Still drinking chamomile? Was the doctor able to give you anything?"

"Nothing that does away with it completely. And you know chamomile is a warrior's drink," she said, grinning.

He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Of course. Kardan asked for some this morning, when I met with him before his departure. He laughed -- evidently Sobol played it up to him that it was indeed a warrior's drink, just for the joke."

"He stopped in to say good-bye." Deanna leaned in to kiss him again, taking advantage of the moment. "I hope you've heard from the admiral?"

"We're taking the _Enterprise_ to Starbase 294, picking up an admiral and a few other officers transferring elsewhere, then making our way to Betazed."

She loved him for saying it without dread. They would be speaking to her mother about several things, a Betazoid wedding among them. While there was no particular urgency about having one, he wanted more information and they might start to plan it. And the Festival of Alipha would be taking place. She was supposed to dance in it. Daughters of the House were called upon to be the main event; she'd missed about a decade of festivals being in Starfleet.

"At least we're getting a little time off before the next survey," she said. They already knew the next assignment was a long survey out to an area known as the Briar Patch, to determine the status of the planets in the area. The few habitable worlds had been used during the war to manufacture ketracel white, and possibly to breed Jem'hadar. As it wasn't a crisis, they had been allowed a generous leave in between.

"Successful missions make happy admirals generous," he commented. "Even though I had my moments of anxiety while you bonded with Klingons, I think that the Ballad of Deanna Troi will be making the rounds in the Empire for some time to come. And the Federation needs all the help it can get, convincing the Empire to be our friend. It'll help Martok's efforts. We may be able to help them shore up their borders, which will help the Federation avoid having these species invading from this direction."

"As much as I would love to let you keep repeating things to me, I have a lot of work to finish," she murmured, her lips brushing his neck as she hugged him again.

"Hmph. I should talk to your supervisor," he grumbled. "Are you saying you aren't coming home for dinner?"

Deanna stepped back, looking at him speculatively. "Are you saying it's the end of the shift?"

It amused him. He glanced at the frame; she looked too, to find it now showed a picture of them dancing.

"Why do I think the Betazoid wedding won't be as much fun?" he said.

"Because it won't. Computer, what time is it?"

_The time is now seventeen thirty-six._

Deanna returned to the desk to deactivate the terminal and pick up a padd. It was time to go home with her husband.


End file.
